


The Cripple King

by Haely_Potter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brother-Brother Relationship, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Warging, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 06:05:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haely_Potter/pseuds/Haely_Potter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rickon kicks and screams and bites and hits when he hears he is to be parted from Bran in the book. But what if it didn't get to that and Bran doesn't even contemplate separating from Rickon? This changes their plans to go Beyond the Wall as Bran has Rickon to think about and no amount of persuasion from the three eyed crow will make a difference. So they are on Bear Island during Red Wedding and Bran get's crowned the King in the North.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How it began

**Author's Note:**

> These are ficlets raging from a few hundred words to a few thousand but they should be in chronological order. And again this was inspired by the fact that Bran and Rickon are awesome and too often left out or mentioned as a footnote in most stories.  
> This is a mix of the book and series, be warned.  
> Will seem like Bran is perfect and has the answer to everything, but the problems will keep coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own either A Song of Ice and Fire or Game of Thrones

Bran looks down at Rickon clinging to his useless leg as they walk through the half-burned Winterfell. They have never been the closest of brothers because of the age difference but Rickon has already lost most of his pack. He doesn’t remember what father, Sansa and Arya and Jon look like and has started to forget Robb and mother too. Bran is all he has left, Bran realizes. It isn’t the same to Bran who can remember his parents and other siblings relatively clearly, he is able to tell (mostly) who can be trusted. The Reeds for sure, as well as the Umbers and Mormonts and Tallharts and Glovers and Manderlys most likely. He makes a decision and has Hodor kneel so that he can hug his baby brother. Shaggy and Summer come over and lick their faces.

“We have to get to either Bear Island or Greywater Watch,” he says, looking up. “Both are easy to defend against large invading armies and both the Reeds and Mormonts have always been loyal to the Starks since the Neck and Bear Island have been joined to the North. Personally I think it would be easier to reach Bear Island since between them and us is only the Wolfswood and the sea but there is also Deepwood Motte and the Glovers too are a loyal house. Hopefully we can send Robb word from there.”

Bran knows he’s made the right decision when a smile breaks onto Rickon’s face before he hides it in Bran’s neck, arms tightening around his neck.

Jojen seems ready to protest so Bran adds, “Wolfswood is also full of game and it must be easier to take a boat North from Bear Island than to try to cross the Wall.” He looks at Osha. “I am sorry Osha. I know you wanted to go as far south as south goes. If you wish, I will free you from your oath and you can leave.”

Osha shakes her head. “I promised your Lord brother to never let you come to harm if I could stop it. Letting you go North while you don’t know what’s there is letting both you and the littlest lordling come to harm and no one of the Free Folk is known for breaking their oaths. I’m not going to be the first.”

Bran turns to look at Meera and Jojen, wanting to know what they think of the new plan. Meera smiles brightly and Jojen agrees sullenly. “We’ll follow you, my Prince,” the girl says and suddenly Bran realizes she’s Robb’s age even if she seems much younger because of her bright personality.

Bran has Hodor stand, leaving Rickon on the ground and clinging to his leg once again and looks around the ruins of Winterfell. “We must salvage what we can. Furs, weapons, food, in that order. Hodor, Rickon and I will see what’s left of the Great Keep, see if we can find some furs for us. Osha, you check the armory, see if there’s anything of use left. Meera, Jojen, you take the kitchen. If any of you find other survivors, bring them with you. We will regroup in the Godswood in an hour. Meera, Jojen, if you have the time, check the stables for horses,” he commanded, sending the three to their tasks. “Hodor, carry Rickon and me to the Great Keep,” he tells the stable boy who obediently picks Rickon up and starts on the way to the crumbling Keep that had been Bran and Rickon’s home not two weeks past.

At first they check the household quarters that are in shambles. The beddings are ripped, mattresses ruined and pillows stewed all around. They find some blankets that are usable deep in a closet and the Stark marriage cloaks (the groom’s cloak, the maiden cloak and the bride’s cloak) in another. They also find some of their old clothes not yet given to the small folk and Bran thinks they are in a good enough condition to be still of use. Of course, Robb’s old clothes are much too large for Bran and Bran’s old clothes are much too large for Rickon but with the winter here, they will make for wonderful outer clothes so that they won’t get frost bite. This will be especially important for Bran because he wouldn’t feel it in his legs if they were to blacken. The servant’s quarters are mostly untouched and there they find winter furs instead of summer furs, packed away deep in chests and closets.

Then Bran remembers something his father had told him a few years ago when he’d asked about Skagos and how they paid their taxes. Father took him deep under the Great keep, below the servants’ quarters, below the store rooms, below the hot spring the Great keep was built upon. There was a room there, filled to the brim with jewels and long, white horns. “The Skagosi don’t have gold or silver, Bran,” father told him, “but they have more jewels than they know what to do with so they pay with what on the other hand is valuable to them. It’s the one unicorn horn every ten years that is valuable to them. They don’t care for the colorful rocks they send each year but everyone mourns the one unicorn horn they send every ten years. This room alone is worth more than the whole of Westerlands and this is what Skagos pays in a hundred years. And Skagos has been part of the North for thousands of years. We have nearly five hundred whole horns here in Winterfell Bran so while the Lannisters go on and on about being the richest Great House there is, we know it’s not true.” “But, if we are the richest house, why do we not tell everyone?” Bran had asked. “Because it is always good to be underestimated by your enemy, Bran, remember that.”

They would need the money, Bran knows. Robb needs the money. He wonders if father had ever told Robb about the rooms below the hot spring or if it was knowledge from second son to second son. So after they had multiple furs for everyone in their ragtag group he orders Hodor to go below the Great Keep. They left the furs and blankets at the top of the stairs and so below they went, Bran is holding the torch, Rickon and Shaggy sprinting ahead and Summer keeps the end. Once at the jewel rooms Bran orders Hodor to pack some of the jewels into the sack he’d taken with them. Rickon wanders deeper into the room and soon comes back with a unicorn horn, banging it gleefully to the ground. To Bran’s surprise it doesn’t break.

“Rickon, let me see that,” he tells his brother, holding his hand out expectantly.

“No! Mine!” announces Rickon stubbornly.

“You can have it back as soon as I’ve seen it,” Bran promises which seems to calm Rickon as he agrees and gives the horn to Bran. Bran inspects it, tries to see if it bends, breaks or splinters and comes to the conclusion it is much like metal than wood or bone. It is heavier than wood but lighter than metal. From that one horn there would be enough material for two broadswords or one broadsword, one normal long sword and a plethora of daggers. He hands it back to Rickon. “Were there more of these where you found this one?”

Rickon nods eagerly. “There were more, one for each finger,” he says and holds out both of his hands, displaying all ten fingers.

Bran smiles. “Can you get me another one?” he asks. With two horns he should be able to make one broadsword, two long swords and more than enough daggers to give to those loyal to the Starks. Meera, Jojen and Osha would be the first to get the daggers, the broadsword would serve as the replacement of Ice until they get it back from the Lannisters and the two long swords are for Robb and for when Rickon is big enough to wield a sword of his own. Bran smiles, already knowing the name for the broadsword. Blizzards are such dangerous things, fatal even, if one doesn’t know how to survive. This Blizzard would be unsurvivable.

Rickon comes back with the other unicorn horn and Bran tells him he’ll be the one keeping them safe until they can get to some place with a decent smith. Rickon beams proudly up at Bran.

They head back up and Bran has Hodor lock all the iron doors and takes the keys with him so that should Theon or the Bolton’s return, they wouldn’t get the treasures even if they came this far. No one would have any reason to come this far unless they knew about the jewels and unicorn horns but better safe than sorry, that’s what Maester Luwin always says.

They get to the Godswood and everyone else is already there, gathered around the Heart tree. Rickon drops the horns and runs up to them as they part, revealing Maester Luwin with a blood stained grab. “Get me close, Hodor,” Bran orders and is obeyed as always. Bran doesn’t know what to feel. Maester Luwin had always been there and rarely if ever hurt. “Tell us what medicine to get from your chambers.”

“We’ll make you better,” Rickon agrees.

“I feel just fine,” Maester Luwin says gently and Bran can hear the lie in it.

“They’ve burned it,” says Bran, looking at Maester Luwin. “So much of it is gone.”

“But not everything. Not you,” Maester Luwin reminds him. “But they may come back. You have to go,” he looks Bran in the eyes.

“I know, we’re already planning on going to Bear Island. The Mormonts have always been one of our strongest, most faithful allies,” Bran tells him. “And they can keep us safe until Robb comes back.”

Maester Luwin smiles. “I was going to suggest the Wall and Jon but you have thought this through,” he says proudly. “I count myself lucky to have seen you, both of you, every day since you were born. But you better go, get ready. The journey will be long.”

“I don’t want to leave you!” Bran protests.

“And I don’t want to leave you,” Maester Luwin answers. “But I will be here when you come back. Maybe I can even scare Theon Turncloak or Bastard Bolton should they return.”

Bran gives a weak chuckle, knowing Maester Luwin is referring to the ghost stories Old Nan used to tell of haunted castles. “Are there any ravens left that might take a letter to Robb?”

“I can send it still if you’re quick about it,” Maester Luwin says and whistles. A flock of ravens flew up from all around Winterfell and lands around them in the Godswood.

Bran tells Hodor to run to the Great keep, to the servant’s quarters. He remembers seeing parchment and ink in one of the rooms and writes a quick message for Robb once there. He remembers to date the letter.

_Turncloak betrayed by Boltons. Rickon and I alive, hid in crypts. Winterfell burned by Boltons. Maester Luwin with terminal wound. Will go to Deepwood Motte and Bear Island. If not there, at Wall or Greywater Watch. Osha and Hodor alive. Meera and Jojen Reed too. – Brandon Stark, Prince in the North_

When he is finished, he has Hodor run back to the godswood where Maester Luwin is. Osha is trying to make him as comfortable as possible, helping him drink some water, and Rickon is chatting and petting Shaggydog and Meera and Jojen are going through what everyone had found. Bran hands the letter to Maester Luwin who in turn gives it to the darkest raven in the whole flock. Bran sees it fly off towards south and hopes it would reach Robb.

Then Maester Luwin tells them they really have to leave if they want to make any progress that day. He keeps Osha back and Bran, Hodor, Rickon, Meera and Jojen head to the yard of North Gate, where the Glass Gardens are. The green and yellow glass panels are shattered and Bran thinks it a horrible waste, they were expensive. Some of the trees still stand and bear fruit but Bran knows they will die in the Winter without the glass to protect them from the cold. He has the others gather the fruit they can reach and he and Hodor go to see if all the horses are dead. Meera had said they hadn’t had the time to see. Bran knows he and Rickon could both ride Dancer if she is still alive but Meera, Jojen, Osha and Hodor would all need their own horses. And they would also need a pack horse or a small buggy. Best would be Dancer and six other horses but Bran would be happy just for a pair of horses and a buggy. Meera knew how to drive a buggy, she’d told him once, and Hodor could lead Bran’s horse. Rickon could sit in the buggy and Jojen and Osha could walk.

At the stable doors Bran can hear weak neighing and has Hodor take them inside. Some of the horses are in a bad shape, it would be kinder to kill them quickly than leave them to die of hunger or be killed by wolves but others are perfectly fine. Dancer is among those that are fine, as is Theon’s warhorse, a thing big enough to let Hodor ride. All in all, there are eighteen horses alive of the sixty that there had been before Theon’s attack, eight of them healthy enough to be taken with them. Bran has Dancer, Theon’s warhorse and three others saddled and fitted with saddlebags. The other three Bran has Hodor fit with as many saddle bags as he manages to fit. Then he has Hodor lead two of the pack horses to the others and has Osha come with them for the other six.

“Osha, it’ll be kinder to kill the horses we leave behind rather than let them starve or freeze to death or have wolves come in and eat them alive. If they’re dead, the wolves can’t hurt them anymore,” Bran says mournfully atop Dancer, the last pack horse tied to his saddle.

“Aye, but it’ll also tell the returning squids and flayed men that someone survived,” answers Osha as she reluctantly unsheathes her dagger and nicks the nearest ill horse’s neck where blood sprouts, flying right by her. Slowly, the bucking and neighing horse loses its last strength and collapses on the ground, still bleeding heavily.

Bran wants to laugh but he can’t, not with so much death and destruction around and orders Dancer to move forward. He stops at the door and takes out his knife and carves a message to the stable door. “Thanks for the horses – Lord of Winterfell, Prince in the North” will have the Boltons scratching their heads and running around. He grins and urges Dancer forward. He knows Osha will have Hodor come with the other two horses and herself take the last two as soon as she is done, giving mercy to the other nine like Bran suspects she gave Maester Luwin.

In an hour when everything is packed well and good onto the horses, water skins filled to the brim, Rickon sitting in front of Bran on Dancer, the pack horse still tied to his saddle and he rides out of the North Gate and onto the open fields that are between Winterfell and Wolfswood, making a lazy turn to North West. When Osha sees the unicorn horns she stares but doesn’t ask about them.


	2. Arrival and flight from Deepwood Motte

They have been riding for nine days. On the seventh it had started to snow and Bran had been glad that Rickon rode with him on Dancer because sometimes he lost sight of the other horses. They had always found them again but Bran didn’t want to imagine the temper tantrum Rickon might’ve thrown had they accidentally been separated. In a way Bran is also thankful for the snow as it covers their tracks from anyone that might be chasing them even if Bran is skeptical anyone has been back to Winterfell yet, other than wolves, that is.

He tightens the cloak around them and pushes Dancer forward, Summer and Shaggydog running faithfully on different sides of them. Osha is riding in front of them with Jojen, Hodor is just behind the pack horse tied to Dancer, leading the second pack horse, and Meera came last with the last pack horse.

Suddenly Osha and Jojen stop forcing Bran to a stop too. “What is it?” he calls ahead.

“Men,” answers Osha warily. “With a grey hand on a red shield.”

“Members of House Glover,” answers Bran with relief. “Deepwood Motte isn’t far then.”

Eventually Bran can see the men Osha and Jojen had seen as they ride towards them. Rickon burrows further into Bran’s chest and the cloak around them so that his face is barely distinguishable.

“Who goes there?” the man in lead shouts.

Osha and Jojen shift their horses aside so that Bran can ride forward with Rickon and the direwolves. “Brandon Stark, with my brother Rickon, my friends Meera and Jojen Reed and my servants. To whom am I speaking to?”

“Well bless me, I thought Lady Sybelle mad for sending us to look for the dead princes but here I find you,” the man says, shaking his head. “Mattie Forrester, at your service, your highness. We’d heard of the sacking of Winterfell twice over, and of your heads upon spikes but the ironborn have been causing more and more trouble and we had no men to send to your help. Then the raven came from Master Galbart to go out to look for you, that you’d survived and sent word to his Majesty King Robb and were heading here. We better get you inside, your horses look half dead,” he says and turns his own men around, starting to lead Bran’s company slightly to the left. Now Bran rides in the lead, Meera and Jojen behind him and Osha and Hodor behind them, reflecting their hierarchy.

It takes them half an hour to get to Deepwood Motte and Bran knows they would have missed it had Lady Glover not sent men to look for them. They ride through the wooden gates and the wooden town to the wooden fortress. There the men start to get down from their horses and Bran and Rickon wait patiently for Osha and Hodor to come to them. Bran has charged Meera with taking care of the jewel sack and Jojen with the unicorn horns after Rickon had gotten bored of carrying them around after the second day. Hodor lifts Rickon off the horse while Osha unstraps Bran from the saddle, finally lifting him to the basket that Hodor had on his back. Many of the men in the yard watch this with wide eyes but when they catch the eyes of Meera and Jojen who glare fiercely, they go back to their original tasks.

In the end Mattie Forrester leads them to the Great Hall of Deepwood Motte to meet Lady Sybelle Locke Glover who turns out to be a woman of three-and-twenty with honeyed long hair in a northern style braid and grey eyes, much like their father’s had been. She has her children with her, a boy of six, Gawen, if Bran recalled correctly, and a girl of four, Erena. She stands up gracefully and Bran can see the relieved joy in her eyes. “Your highness, it is good to have you here safely.”

“Believe me, it is my pleasure to be welcomed so warmly,” Bran answers, trying to remember what Maester Luwin had taught him. But he’s been taught to greet people as the second son, the spare, of the Warden of the North, not as Prince in the North, his brother’s heir until he has children of his own. He sees Rickon’s hold tighten on his leg and hears Shaggy growl lowly. “I am sorry to be so abrupt but we have ridden for nine days and all of us are tired.”

“I understand,” lady Glover says with a nod. “I’ve had rooms prepared for you. If you need anything at all, the servants have been instructed to obey. Martha, lead the Princes and lord and lady Reed to their rooms.”

Bran gives the lady of the Deepwood Motte a thankful smile and has Hodor follow the servant girl out of the hall and upstairs. He talks with Martha as they walk, and Martha tells them of the fuss lady Sybelle had made when the raven from Master Galbart had come the day before. She tells them they had the best guest rooms aired out and readied for them and how they had sent a second hunting party out today to be able to send them off to Bear Island with enough food for the journey. Bran tells her that he can pay for the provisions but Martha (or lady Sybelle) had seen it coming and tells him it would be a slight on their honor if they accepted payment from their monarch. Bran counters that the Winter is here and that they should use all the extra they have to buy and store food for themselves. Martha says that they’re all hunters and can survive as long as there’s any game in the Wolfswood.

They come to a corridor and Martha points at two doors. “The right one is for the Princes and the left one is for the Reeds. There are servants’ room attached in each.”

“Would it be possible to have baths brought up?” Bran asks. “As warm as possible. We’re all used to bathing in the hot springs at Winterfell and no one probably would want a cold bath after riding through a winter storm.”

“Of course your highness,” Martha answers with a smile. “Shall I send up food as well? Or will you be joining lady Sybelle for dinner?”

“I hope she won’t consider us too rude if we eat in our chambers this evening. Had we arrived but a few hours earlier we might’ve joined her but now we’re all much too tired,” Bran tells her with an apologetic smile. “And could you ask if the word has been sent to my brother of our arrival?”

“Oh, yes, it has,” says Martha excitedly. “Lady Sybelle had the word sent when she heard you’d ridden through the lower gate. Maester Jeor says it was to be sent by the fastest raven we have to Riverrun from where they can forward it to your brother.”

“Thank you for your help, Martha,” Bran nods to her and has Hodor follow Osha, Rickon and the direwolves inside, smiling as Meera and Jojen only then go to their own rooms.

They come to a solar with two doors on opposite sides of the room. Osha and Rickon have gone to investigate the one on the left and Rickon runs out of it happily. “The bed, Bran! It’s bigger than the one at home! Though the quilts aren’t as nice nor is it quite as soft, it is better than sleeping on the snow,” he tells Bran excitedly. “And did you see that boy that sat next to the lady? He looked like I could play with him! Do you think he’d want to play with me and Shaggy? Or will we be leaving right away tomorrow? I hope not, I don’t really like riding, it makes my butt hurt.”

Bran smiles. “We won’t be leaving tomorrow, the horses need the rest and lady Sybelle must send word to Bear Island before we can go. And don’t worry, you won’t have to ride much anymore, the shore is barely a day’s ride North from where we’ll take a ship to Bear Island.”

 

It is two nights into their stay that Jojen wakes them up, whispering frantically about the sea and krakens coming to Deepwood Motte and Bran knows they must flee again. He sends Meera to the kitchen to gather some food for their journey and has Jojen and Osha pack their clothes. He has Hodor go saddle the horses and then come back. Rickon he sends running to lady Sybelle to tell her of the threat and then come back with the lady if she doesn’t believe him. He returns in less than five minutes the lady on his heels and Bran gives her a quick explanation of green dreams and their accuracy. She gives a sharp nod in the end and wakes up the household to help them prepare and to prepare Deepwood Motte for a siege and to send a raven to Bear Island. Then she asks Bran if they could take her children with them. Meera volunteers to ride with little Erena and grudgingly Jojen agrees to share his horse with Gawen and so the party of eight rides into the night, careful to follow the directions to ride straight to North and once they reach the sea to follow the coast left. It isn’t long until the three youngest of them are asleep, Rickon slumped against Bran’s chest, Gawen against the horse’s neck and Erena cuddling up to Meera.

When sun rises they stop for a short breakfast but carry on as soon as possible and don’t stop until at the sea shore that evening, setting up camp to sleep. Next morning they ride left and by midday they see a ship with bears in their sails. Bran slumps in relief and the man that comes on the rowboat to the shore tells them there is a fishing village maybe an hour’s ride North and that they can board the ship there with their horses.


	3. Bear Island

Bear Island isn’t like anything Bran has seen before. Not that Bran has seen much, just Winterfell, Torrhen’s Square, Castle Cerwyn and now Deepwood Motte. The village and seat of the Mormonts’ are built in a natural harbor surrounded by sharp cliffs by all sides but the back which leads to the forest. On that side the village was fortified with a wall made of fifteen feet high tree trunks sharpened at the top. The village is sturdy and there is not one dress in sight even if most of the population is female at the moment. The men are obviously out fishing right now but there is no reason to imagine the village vulnerable, especially when Alysane Mormont stands on the deck to welcome them, short, chunky and muscular, dressed in mail, a tunic, breeches and cloak, a mace on her hip. But she is also smiling welcomingly and takes to the knee when Bran and Rickon got off the ship, Summer and Shaggy having already jumped to the deck.

“My Princes,” she says respectfully. “Welcome to Bear Island. We were worried when we received lady Sybelle’s raven about the ironborn attack and your flight. My sisters and I will be happy to host you until his Majesty comes to bring you back to Winterfell.”

Bran sees the girls standing beside her. Lyra and Jorelle Mormont are women grown, both just under twenty, dressed like their older sister, but it was Lyanna Mormont who drew his attention. She still has a soft look about her, one that Bran is sure her sisters have once shared before fighting took it away, and still keeps her hair long, in a braid over her shoulder. She doesn’t wear mail under her tunic which reaches her knees and is more of a cross between a tunic and a dress than a simple tunic. It is something Arya would love and Bran hopes he could one day show his sister the design, or have Lyanna Mormont show it to her since men don’t talk about… clothes.

“We are pleased to be here,” answers Bran.

“Yeah, I don’t like riding,” Rickon agrees. “But ships are fun!”

Bran smiles down at him and turns back to the Mormonts. “We have lady Sybelle’s children with us. I hope you don’t mind hosting them too.”

“Of course not, Glovers and Mormonts have worked together for hundreds years,” Alysane tells them. “They are always welcome. And everyone knows Bear Island is probably the safest place during a war in the North. You shall all be safe here.”

“Thank you,” Bran smiles at her and glances at Lyanna again. She’s about a year younger than him and he knows if Lady Mormont gets her way, she will be his bride one day. He’s not sure how he’d feel about it which surprises him because before this he’d never thought he’d even marry some day. Before his fall he’d always thought he’d join the Kingsguard and swear off taking a wife or if he wasn’t good enough, he’d go to the Wall with uncle Benjen, like Jon had done. Now the best he can do is learn to handle a bow atop a horse and learn strategy. If Robb died (and Bran knew there was always the possibility) Rickon would have to work as his hands, be the body to his brain because there was no way he could go riding around beheading traitors and deserters. Bran didn’t like thinking of Rickon having to kill anyone.

 

Instructions come from Robb, and the women of Bear Island send five of their sneakiest and quickest riders all around the western North to rescue children (heirs) from the ironborn in the next moon’s turn. There are the three Tallharts, Eddara (the heir), Brandon (her heir) and Beren (the late Lady Hornwood’s heir apparent) and the Flints of Flint’s Finger gratefully sent their four youngest (Richard, Nan, Edwyle and Jon) to the safety of Bear Island.

Sometimes Bran watches the others train but he in fact doesn’t really have time for that. He continues his studies in warging with Jojen and running around as Summer. He has the Mormonts’ blacksmith forge the unicorn horn like he wanted and gifts the daggers as he pleases, to Osha, Meera, Jojen, Alysane, Eddara, Brandon, Beren and Richard. One of the long swords is put to safety for Rickon for a time until he is at least ten, and the other is kept in storage for Robb. Bran has the broadsword with himself all the time even if he knows he can never use it. But every evening Bran gathers the young ones, including Lyanna and Alysane’s daughter Aelinor, and talks with them of their days. The oldest of his court, as Alysane had japed, was Brandon Tallhart, also called Bran by his brother and cousin, at six-and-ten. After Meera, that is, who is already nine-and-ten. The youngest is little Erena Glover followed by the five-year-old Jon Flint. Most of them don’t remember to address him and Rickon as Princes but Meera and Jojen always correct them which soon rubs off on the younger children and later on the older ones as well. Still, every evening Bran gathers his little court and has them tell him of their day, easing the comradeship before everyone has relaxed and are talking and telling stories and laughing. The Flints of Flint’s Finger have many stories of their older siblings and numerous cousins, the Tallharts never lack an amusing hunting story that may or may not be exaggerated, the Reeds join in with tales of greenseers and accounts of the southrons trying to find the Greywater Watch, the Mormonts keep to their stories of bear husbands and wildling raids and Bran and Rickon chip in with funny incidents that happened with their direwolves. Though the best evenings are those when Osha tells tales from beyond-the-Wall and has the children either laughing at a failed stealing or shivering with horror after a story of the Others. The most adorable thing happens one evening after another story from Osha about a failed stealing where the husband-wanna-be ended up covered in tar and feathers. Bran notices Rickon looking at the gathered children when his eyes landed on little Erena and he stood up. “We stole you from under the ironborn’s noses and now I’m stealing you,” he proclaims at the confused little girl and lifts her up and carries her to sit with Bran and himself, away from Gawen who doesn’t know how to react. Everyone older are laughing. “You can’t start stealing brides until you’re older, lordling,” Osha tells Rickon, chuckling all the while. Rickon stubbornly held Erena’s hand. “No, I stole her, now she’s mine!” he shouts but as Erena patted his hand he calms down. “Yeth huthband,” she says with lisp and a wide grin, leaning over to give Rickon a wet kiss on his cheek. Rickon’s answering grin is just as wide.

But the news of Robb trickle in steadily and Bran frowns when he reads that Robb has married – and not the Frey girl he was supposed to. It is too late for that but Bran hopes Robb won’t do anything stupid, like walk into a trap. He is too far from Robb to effectively give advice and too young for Robb to take him seriously even if he would know Bran is right. Bran laments the fact that he is so young. Had he and Arya switched ages there might’ve been a chance Robb listened to him but not when he is the second youngest of six. It wouldn’t matter if he was thirty because Robb would still be eight-and-thirty and still “know better” than his “young little brother.” Rickon is now more convinced than ever that Robb and mother aren’t coming back and has turned all his hopes to getting Sansa and Arya back, even if it is almost as unlikely, prisoners in King’s Landing as they are.

Bran also comes to the unfortunate conclusion that they need more spies, permanent ones rather than scouts, but knows that every Northman would likely be killed in the capital or Westerlands. Maesters would be most useful but they take oaths and while some would be willing to break them, Bran knows very few Northmen that would, Septas too (of course ignoring the fact that only in White Harbor do the people keep the Seven). Merchants are always welcome but North doesn’t have much to offer in for of merchandise (if you don’t count Skagos’ jewels which Bran is sure are sold in small doses across the Narrow Sea). Servants would easiest but southron servants and northern servants are different. It would take a good deal of time to teach the northern servants well enough so that they wouldn’t be noticed for their differences. And how could Bran even make sure they stayed loyal? Living somewhere and serving someone, you became fond of them no matter your past. It had been proven with Osha who had bonded with Bran and Rickon. Only if the master was truly terrible would there form no bond. Whores, while knowing many secrets of the high born lords, were more likely to use the secrets to their own advantages than their liege lords.

And all this is supposed to be Robb’s problem but he is south making stupid ass decisions and winning victories that aren’t actually strategically important. He should have marched North the moment he found out of Winterfell’s sacking because that was the Stark seat of power and without it, Starks are just another family, a family that had admittedly been around for eight thousand years, but still just a family. And hadn’t father always said that there must be a Stark in Winterfell? Well done indeed, Robb, get crowned the King in the North but be a King without a keep to return to. And Bran is getting a headache of all this thinking and reading. And the Others take the ironborn! They rebel every few decades and are always beaten down but now the Kingdoms are in such a state that the ironborn would have a longer rebellion than in centuries. And there were stories of dragons across the Narrow Sea, hatched by the Targaryen princess, Daenerys. Before, Bran had always wanted to see a dragon but he remembers the tales of Targaryen madness and hopes the dragon Princess would be happy with taking over the Free Cities rater than coming back to Westeros and avenging her mad family. It is unlikely but still, it couldn’t hurt to hope.

Then comes the wedding invitation and Bran becomes instantly wary. It isn’t likely the Freys would be happy to trade the King in the North for his uncle Edmure Tully, no matter his being the Lord of Riverrun and Bran prays Robb won’t go, ignoring Osha’s words about the Old Gods not having any power in the South. Still, hoping for the best, he writes to Robb and advises him not to go to the wedding. A week later he cries bitter tears when he sees Robb and Grey Wind in the crypt next to father’s empty one. Rickon climbs into his bed and cries with him, asking Bran why Robb had gone south. _If he’d just stayed at Winterfell, he wouldn’t be dead, Bran, he wouldn’t!_ Straight the following morning Bran visits the same blacksmith that had crafted the swords and daggers and gives him the last piece of the unicorn horn and commissions a winter crown of it, the tips inlaid with small blue sapphires and clear diamonds.

When the news reach them on Bear Island a week later, Bran sits in a high backed chair, Rickon standing by his side, Summer and Shaggydog beside them, and neither cries, just blink their tears back and their faces become cold masks. Bran speaks to the silent hall, telling them he’d commissioned a ceremonial crown should they want to crown him, as he is his brother’s heir, but he would not insist upon it. Bran Tallhart shakes his head and take out his sword, laying it at Bran’s feet and kneels.

“For eight thousand years the Starks have ruled the North justly and it is not unheard of for the ruling to befall the second son, your own Lord Father being the second son of Lord Rickard Stark. You may not be able to lead us personally in battle like his Majesty, but I’ve heard you talk strategy in both ruling and battle and I think you’d serve well as our King,” he says clearly and Beren and Eddara nodded, following their brother and cousin to their knees.

Meera steps forward. “We already swore our fealty to your brother but now we swear fealty to, Brandon Stark, sixth of his name, King in the North,” she takes to the knee and lays her three pronged spear at his feet, Jojen following her example.

“My sister died for your brother,” Alysane says. “I might die for you, but I’ll be proud to,” she continues and lays her spiky mace at his feet and the rest of the Mormonts in the hall followed their de-facto lady to their knees. “No Mormont has ever taken to knee for anyone else but a Stark. Not I nor my children or sisters will be the first to kneel for Boltons, Baratheons or Lannisters.”

Richard, lacking a sword, takes out the dagger Bran had given him. “If my life or death may protect you, you will have it,” he says and slashes his palm with the dagger. “I may not be able to swear my house to you, but I swear myself to your service, until my last breath.” He lays the bloodied dagger at Bran’s feet. The rest of the Flints don’t make any vows but that is understandable as Edwyle and Jon were eight and five respectively and Nan is a girl.

Little Gawen Glover smiles widely as he took to the knee, not really understanding what is going on but everyone else are kneeling in front of Bran so why not him too. Besides, Bran is nice, as is Rickon, even if he stole Erena, and they had direwolves! How cool is that? He doesn’t say anything but lays his toy war hammer at Bran’s feet, like everyone else.

Rickon doesn’t really understand what’s going on either. The last time he saw everyone kneel was at Winterfell when that fat man that took father, Sansa and Arya away, came. But now these people are calling Bran King and kneeling for him. Rickon felt like things had just gotten harder for his brother but he also remembers mother telling him he should always kneel for the King, so he kneels beside Bran, looking up at his brother, sitting on the chair where Hodor had sat him.

“You just made my job a hell of a lot harder, little King,” Osha complains as she too kneels, bringing Hodor with her, her too laying the dagger Bran gave her at his feet. They are the last in the hall to kneel.

“Well,” Bran blinks. He hadn’t actually expected them to accept him. He wasn’t taught the words to accept these kinds of oaths. “May your oaths hold as long as the Wall has stood and may your blades help you keep your honor.” Those are things Northmen could understand. And they are also things linked to the Starks. Bran the builder had built the Wall eight thousand years ago and the Starks were known for their honor, it shouldn’t be weird for Bran to accept their oaths with such words. “You may rise.”

“The King in the North!” Meera shouts and jumps to her feet.

“The King in the North!” the others join her.

“THE KING IN THE NORTH!”

“Rickon, could you run to the smith and ask if he’s done with the crown?” Bran asks, and Rickon nods and runs out of the hall, Shaggy on his heels.

“I guess the first order of business is to open communication with the rest of Robb’s host. Thing is, with most of the ironborn raiding the North, it should be fairly simple to take over the islands, if we had enough ships. I know Bear Island has some ship but not enough and we don’t have the time to build a fleet. But the ironborn can’t carry their ships to the inland so they have to be somewhere along the coast. It might be craven but if we take over those ships we would also trap the ironborn on land where they might be fierce warriors but their might lies in their ships. And we have to secure the North before we can think of returning to fight the Lannisters. We also have the threat of the Others in the North. Wildlings are fleeing them to the south of the Wall and we can’t fight all of them. We will have to treat with them, probably sooner rather than later. I don’t want to leave the Riverlands to defend themselves but the neck is easy to close and defend should Lannisters try marching to the North. We could always let the sourthrons march in the North and let the Winter do its job but that would cause problems for the smallfolk. If we had the Iron Isles under our control, we could have them raid Westerlands and siphon Lannister goods, maybe the Reach too. I don’t want to anger Dorne so we should stay clear from them. The Vale… has remained neutral and it seems like it shall remain so for a while yet. Stormlands are firmly Baratheon lands, or they had been until Renly was murdered. They don’t like Stannis there and Renly left no heir so they are just floundering. I would also like to send an envoy to Daenerys Targaryen so that should she ever turn here, we would already have some kind of understanding of her character and how to deal with her,” Bran outlines his plan.

“Your Grace, our cousin, Jorah, is with her,” Alysane says instantly. “He fled after he was caught selling poachers to slavers.”

“A royal pardon then, an open invitation to come home, but an encouragement to remain with Daenerys as an envoy,” Bran says thoughtfully. “The man must be desperate to come home. Even if he doesn’t stay with Daenerys he could very well have information of her. Though he would be relegated to the position of a second son rather than regaining his position as the Lord of Bear Island as Lady Maege has more than made up for his absence and I don’t want slavers as my bannermen.”

Alysane smiles. “I shall compose and send a letter post haste, your Grace,” she bows and gestures for Lyra to take her place as she leaves to fill the first order King Brandon gave.

This is when Rickon runs back to the hall, brandishing the white crown in his hand. “It’s ready Bran! The smith gave it to me to give to you!” he shouts happily as he skids to a stop, holding the crown out to Bran.

Lyra Mormont takes the crown before Rickon has a chance to give it to Bran and looks it over. “It’s made of the same metal as those daggers you’ve given out and I like the way it’s mostly white but where did you get those jewels? They must’ve cost a pretty penny.”

“Let me tell you all a trade secret,” Bran says with a wicked smile. “The Lannisters aren’t the richest great house. There is a place somewhere in North that has jewels like stones on the ground. I’m not going to tell you which part of the North it is but because to them the gems are just colorful stones, they are happy to pay their taxes in these.”

Everyone in the hall are staring at Bran in disbelief.

“It’s true!” Rickon comments. “There was this huge room full of those shiny things at Winterfell. Then Bran had all those rooms locked after we were done on that one room, but there were more than twenty rooms.” He’s learned his numbers up to twenty now and Bran couldn’t have been prouder.

Bran shrugs. “Like I said, they pay their taxes like this. Have paid for thousands of years. So we have the money for this war and Winter if we can take back Winterfell. But first step is communication with the host and taking over the Iron Isles. The Boltons are next and then the Wall. But should the Wall need us immediately, we’ll dispatch all the men we can.”

“And announcing your ascendance to the rest of the Northern houses so that they won’t rally to the Boltons, or something equally stupid, your Grace,” Bran Tallhart reminded him. “The Umbers and Karstarks and Manderlys might declare for the Boltons if they have no other choice.”

“Also send word to Castle Black,” Bran said. “They no longer work in the Seven Kingdoms but in the Free and Independent Kingdom of the North and while I understand that they will take no part in politics, I would feel better if the Lord Commander swore an oath. And every new recruit from south will have to swear off any other crown.”

The Maester in the hall agrees and hurries off to write those letters.


	4. Castle Black

Twenty days later the Maester comes to him with a letter. “A raven from Castle Black, your Grace. Maester Aemon pleads for help in a fight against the Wildlings who are going to attack Castle Black in two weeks time.”

Bran feels like cursing. “We will have to answer them even if the Free Folk isn’t the real threat. Hopefully they will have Mance Rayder with them so that I can treat with them. Lyra, how long would it take to get from here to Castle Black?”

“Three days by ship to Westwatch-by-the-bridge and five days from there by horseback, six days if you can’t change horses, and eight days in bad weather, your Grace,” answers Lyra.

“We must be ready the day after tomorrow. The Night’s Watch will already be stretched thin with the Winter coming so we will have to bring our own provisions. During this time, those not taken along should search for the ironborn’s ships.”

It is twelve days later that Bran rides to Castle Black with Rickon sitting in front of him, wearing his unicorn horn crown, surrounded by Mormonts and those Glover men that hadn’t been caught in Deepwood Motte. All together there are about one thousand and two hundred men and women riding with him, with another five hundred raiding the shores for ironborn ships and the rest had been left to defend Bear Island in case the ironborn tried to attack (again).

Donal Noye is there to greet them and seems pleasantly surprised to see them. “Your Grace, welcome to Castle Black.”

“Thank you,” Bran says. “I’m sorry I couldn’t bring more men but the bulk of the northern host is still in Riverlands and the ironborn are an increasing threat on the eastern shore. But we did send ravens to encourage others to send their men. I wouldn’t be surprised if some Umbers and Karstarks joined us in the following two to three days.”

“It is better than nothing, your Grace,” Noye answers. “But why are you here personally?”

“Because I intend to treat with the Free Folk. They aren’t the real enemy,” Bran tells him and lets Osha lift Rickon down. “I doubt Bran the Builder built a several hundred feet tall wall to keep them from stealing.”

“If not the Wildlings, then who is the real enemy?” Noye asks, annoyed, Bran can tell.

“The Others,” answered Osha from Bran’s side, unstrapping his legs, her accent clear, startling Noye who eyes her suspiciously.

“Why do you have a Wildling with you, your Grace?” he asks.

“That’s a funny story, but the gist of it is that she tried to take me hostage and failed and is now my servant,” Bran shrugs as Osha lifts him to the basket on Hodor’s back

“The little King listens better than the rest of you kneelers,” Osha shrugs. “Now where will the little King be sleeping? I need to take his things there.”

“Summer!” Bran shouts as Summer, Shaggy and Rickon run deeper into Castle Black. “Follow Summer Hodor.”

“Hodor,” Hodor agrees and takes after the direwolves and Bran’s brother.

Soon enough they find Summer and Shaggydog tussling around with Ghost, Jon’s white direwolf, Jon not far from them, Rickon in his arms.

“Jon!” Bran calls happily to his brother who seemed to have frozen, staring at Rickon like he’s seen a ghost.

His brother in black looks up from their little brother with wide eyes. “Bran!” he exclaims and sprints across the yard to Bran and Hodor, Rickon still in his arms. “What are you doing here?” he asks with concern.

“I came to treat with the Free Folk, see if they are agreeable to some kind of compromise, because I can’t fight four wars at the same time,” Bran explains with a mellow smile. “Robb left me a big mess to clean up. And on top of that, his wife is missing, possibly pregnant, in the Riverlands that are crawling with Lannisters and Freys.”

“Four wars?” Jon asks with a tilted head.

“Lannisters, ironborn, the Free Folk and the Others,” Bran lists.

“How do you know about the Others?”

“Osha!” Bran calls over his shoulder. “Come here and bring the sword!” He turns back to Jon. “Osha’s a wildling who almost managed to take me hostage but after Robb saved me, she became a servant at Winterfell and she told me of the Others. She’s told me much about the Free Folk and their traditions and stories. Did you know she calls Rickon and I “kissed by fire” and says that we’re lucky?”

He sees Jon tense for a second before relaxing again and wonders what it was about. Then Osha comes, a few inches taller than Jon and Bran wonders if Robb wouldn’t have been as dwarfed by Osha any more than he had at first. ”You wanted the sword, little King,” she says and offers Bran the unicorn horn sword with a large oval cut benitoite in the end of the handle.

“Jon, this is for you,” Bran says as he hands he sword to Jon. He thought it best not to mention that it’d originally been meant for Robb but that he’d never had the means to send it.

Jon frowns as he sets the beaming Rickon down and takes the sword. “I would have been happier for a dragon glass dagger as they kill the Others but this might come in handy.”

Osha snorts. “Why do you think unicorns still exist? Their horns can kill the Others as well as dragon glass. That sword is a gift fitting for a king and you’re just a bastard Prince. A dagger made of unicorn horn is a royal gift in itself and the little King goes around giving them to whomever he pleases.”

“Unicorn horn?” asks Jon faintly, staring at his new sword. “Just how much is this worth?”

“About five years of taxes from Skagos,” Bran shrugs. “Which equals almost the same as ten years of taxes from Dreadfort.”

Jon blanches and holds the sword even more carefully. “That’s almost a hundred thousand golden dragons!”

“I know,” Bran looks at him dead in the eye. “Mother may have never considered you family but that doesn’t mean we don’t. Rickon will get a similar sword when he’s more grown.”

“It has a red stone instead of a blue one,” Rickon tells him happily enough.

“What about you?” asks Jon, looking up from his sword, staring at Bran with his grey eyes.

“I can’t fight anymore Jon, but I will have the broadsword Blizard as a replacement for Ice until we can get it back from the Lannisters,” Bran answers. “I will have to make do being King rather than a knight. But did have my crown made of unicorn horn,” he says drily, tapping his crown with his forefinger.

They are quiet for a moment, just standing there. “Thank you for coming Bran,” Jon finally says.

“Of course,” grins Bran. “The Starks are the second line of defense after the Wall, might as well make it official. Some Umbers and Karstarks might still join us in the next few days if we’re lucky.”

Osha snorts by his side. “You are lucky, kissed by fire as you are.”

 

It does seem like Bran is lucky indeed and both the Umbers and Karstarks have answered his call. The Karstarks come from Eastwatch-by-the-sea and Umbers come along the King’s Road and Bran’s force now numbered in nearly four thousand on the Wall. It still isn’t enough, with the Night’s Watch numbering in less than a thousand men and the Free Folk numbering in over several tens of thousands.

The battle begins in the early hours of the morning by the wildling assault from south like Jon had warned them. The force of two hundred that had been sent to attack from the south was quickly dispatched by annoyed Mormonts who had been woken from their sleep, and it really is better to let a sleeping bear lie. The following night Mance Rayder sent a probing attack at the wall before spear heading the attack in the morning by giants and mammoths. The battle rages on for several days, Donal Noye dying protecting the gate. Jon takes over the command and Bran refers his forces to him as he’ll never have as good a battle understanding as those who can actually fight, even if he is a good strategist in straight, even landed battle. And his trust in Jon pays off as he defends the Castle Black with less casualties than should be possible. That is until Ser Alliser Thorne and Lord Janos Slynt arrive among the reinforcements from Eastwatch-by-the-sea, calling Jon a turncloak and throwing him into the icy cells under the Wall. Bran demands to have Jon’s sword back from Janos Slynt who had been parading around with it.

“And what of it, cripple King?” spits Slynt. “It’s a weapon of the Night’s Watch now.”

“No it isn’t,” answers Bran. “It’s a weapon of the members of House Stark, of which you are not, Lannister dog. Now give me my brother’s sword and you might live after.”

“And who’s gonna kill me? You?” Slynt laughs.

His laughter is cut short when Osha comes behind him, the unicorn horn dagger on his throat. “The little King don’t need to sully his hands on the likes of you. He could have that wolf of his eat you alive should he want to. Now give the sword to your King, kneeler, and hope he won’t come for you if his brother dies in those icy cells of yours.”

“A wildling?” squeaks Slynt. “Men, kill the wildling!”

“Those of you who touch Osha, will be hanged,” Bran announces and the Mormonts, Karstarks and Umbers buff themselves, intimidating the men of Night’s Watch. They did outnumber them five to one… “Now give me the sword and pray to your gods Jon doesn’t die.”


	5. Beyond the Wall

It is four days later when Jon is taken from the icy cells and brought to Janos Slynt and Alliser Thorne to receive orders to go negotiate with Mance Rayder. Which isn’t really a negotiation but an attempted assassination. But Bran intervenes.

“Excuse me, but is the kingdom south of the Wall yours?” he asks innocently. “The Night’s Watch is intended to protect the realms of Men but as it has stood as the northern border of the North for eight thousand years, the ultimate decision about who passes through the Wall belongs to the King in the North. I will go treat with Mance Rayder myself and whatever the result of it may be, the Night’s Watch is honor bound to accept. The envoy will consist of myself, Hodor, Osha and Jon. Any questions?”

No one says a word. “Good,” Bran smiles. “We go tomorrow.”

Bran is wearing his crown on the ride to the wildling camp and the introductions are brief, until they came to Osha.

“And this,” Bran motions to her, “is Osha, the reason I’m negotiating with you in the first place.”

“A member of the Free Folk?” Mance Rayder asked with arched brows. “What are you doing with the kneelers?”

“They spared my life when they didn’t have to,” Osha shrugs. “They made me a servant but the little King eventually rewarded the loyal service,” she says with a wolfish grin and unsheathes the unicorn horn dagger. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful dagger. Have you?” she asks, holding it out to Mance, making sure he sees what it was made of but not outright saying it.

“Unicorn horn,” the King-Beyond-the-Wall breathes with wide eyes.

“Aye,” agrees Osha. “Most of the little King’s loyal servants have one. His brother has a sword made of it.”

“Where did you get so much unicorn horn?” Mance asks Bran, eyeing him.

“Trade secret,” Bran grins before sending Osha and Hodor away, having been seated. Jon stands quietly by his side. “But that isn’t why we’re here. As the King in the North, I don’t have the recourses to fight four different wars, you being one of them. Here are my terms: Free Folk can come south. Those willing can man the Wall along with the Night’s Watch against the Others. Those that want can take up residence in the North-East strip of the Wolfswood and the mountains north of Dreadfort. The South-West corner of this triangle of land would be marked by a broken watch tower in the Wolfswood. The mountains West of the lands belong to the Mountain clans of the North who are fairly independent which is the same kind of relationship I am willing to offer the Free folk. You are not expected to come to court but you are welcome there. You will be expected to take arms for the ruling Stark but not expected to send men for the guard. Taxation can be discussed later. As for traditions such as stealing the bride, it is still accepted in the North but I wouldn’t recommend stealing a highborn woman from south of the Neck as that could lead to war. Problem at the moment is, that the ironborn are raiding the North and may or may not be manning the land. And Lannisters will not be happy until everyone kneels for Joffrey the Illborn meaning I would need as many men as would be willing to fight with me.”

“Joffrey the Illborn?” asks Mance.

“His mother Queen Cersei Lannister laid with her twin brother and all three of her children are born of this relationship,” Bran explains. “They are the reason I cannot walk any more. I was climbing and came upon them coupling in an abandoned tower. Ser Jamie Lannister pushed me out of the window to cover up their relationship, hoping to kill me.”

“Yet here you are,” Mance drawls.

“Yet her I am,” Bran agrees. Summer snuffles by his side to remind them he was there too.

“I suppose we and our children could also return north of the Wall after the Others have been dealt with?” Mance asks, getting to the root of the problem.

“Of course, as long as the person has sworn no oaths that would prevent them. For example should one of them take the black, everyone would expect him to keep his word but yes, you would be able to return north of the Wall once the Others have been dealt with,” Bran promises. “But no one will force them to return should they wish to stay.”

“And about that kneeling…”

Bran laughs. “I don’t expect you to kneel, but I do expect you to defer to our most basic laws, such as no unnecessary stealing or killing. In North we take care of our own and those less fortunate are entitled to basic necessities that their liege lord will provide. Those found abusing the system either lose both hands or take the black. Of course, some liege lords do not do their duty and the smallfolk suffer for it. Mind you, I’m mostly talking about the Boltons who are one of the problems I have to take care of.”

“The southern North sounds much better than the South,” Mance says thoughtfully.

“Of course, in the South, people have it much easier than we do so they don’t respect other’s lives; which has lead to poverty and the starving of the poorest even when the richest throw their food away. We always distribute the leftovers to the poorest smallfolk. In fact, I haven’t heard of death by starvation anywhere else but the Bolton lands. Mind, it might just be the Boltons because the Bastard of Bolton “forgot” to feed his wife,” Bran pursed his lips in distaste. “Or it could just be the Bastard as the trueborn Bolton, Domeric, was quiet and fairly gentle. Unfortunately he died a few years back, leaving the Bastard as Lord Bolton’s only heir.”

Mance nods slowly.  “I accept your terms, little King,” he says.

Bran smiles. “As a gesture of good faith I have brought you something,” he says and reaches into his sack and takes out one of the unicorn horn daggers, holding it out to Mance who’s eyebrows shoot up.

“That’s a generous gift, little King,” Mance says as he takes the dagger, inspecting it.

“Form one King to another, I thought it appropriate. I hope you prove worthy of the blade,” Bran says heavily, words laced with meaning. Osha and Hodor are called back in and Bran is once again lifted to the basket on Hodor’s back. Together they go outside to tell the mass of wildlings.

“The little King of the North has granted us passage through the Wall and lands to inhabit. We can stay on the Wall to defend against the Others but the little King needs men to protect his land from invaders who want to make us kneel, want to make everyone kneel. I say we work with the little King as equals rather than wait for those southron kings to make us kneel and then kill us!” Mance shouts to the Free folk, rallying them.

Shouts like “Little King in the North!” and “Mance Rayder!” can be heard from all over the Free folk host. Bran turns back to Mance. “I’ll go back first to explain the terms to the Night’s Watch. I want a good reason to get rid of Janos Slynt. Provoking him is the easiest way, but it should take a little while to accomplish. I’ll open the gates to you as soon as I can.”

Mance nods his acceptance. But before he can speak a scout informs him of a force closing in from east, on the northern side of the Wall. Bran closes his eyes and wants to curse again. He tells Mance he will ride to see what it is about and not quarter hour later is riding to meet this new host. And they are carrying Baratheon banners.

They ride closer and are met by two men and a red woman.

“Who goes there?” asks one of the men, the one not balding.

“Brandon Stark, sixth of his name, King in the North,” Osha calls back. “And who’re you?”

“It’s Stannis Baratheon, the rightful heir of King Robert,” Bran answers her before any of the others could. “Who’s claim to the Iron throne I will support as long as he will leave the North alone. But I do wonder what he is doing here.”

“We heard there was a problem with the wildlings,” the not-balding man tells them.

“I am just done treating with them,” Bran answers. “I am sorry you have made this journey for nothing. But you will be welcome at Castle Black to rest and gather your strength.”

“You treated with the wildlings?” asks the not-balding man.

“Yes, they are just seeking refuge from the Others, it would be wrong of me not to offer them sanctuary, in exchange they will help me with my three other wars that my brother left me to deal with.”

“Three?”

“The Lannisters, the ironborn and the Others.”

“Indeed. What does the Night’s Watch think of your plan to let wildlings onto the Wall?”

Bran grins wolfishly and Summer bares his teeth in a mock grin making them look eerily similar. “They can’t complain. They number under a thousand and I have four thousand men here with me. They can’t man all the keeps on the Wall and the Free folk are more than happy to fight against the Others. And they know how to fight them unlike the Black Brothers.”

Bran can see how the balding man, Stannis Baratheon, the rightful king of the six kingdoms, grows stiffer in the saddle as he told how many men he had at the wall and how the Free folk had allied with him, bringing his man count to nearly forty thousand, even if only thirty-five thousand of those would fight, the other five thousand too young. Bran knows he now has one of the largest armies in Westeros. As soon as he gets the ironborn under control and regains his brother’s old host, he would have the largest army in Westeros with over fifty thousand men. He knows they think he wouldn’t have the money to feed such an army but that is why they keep their riches under wraps.

“Let us lead you to Castle Black. You must be weary,” Bran says and turns his back to Stannis’ host. He grins as he hears the twang of a released bow and the swoosh of the arrow and the thump of Summer landing, crunching the arrow in his jaws. He turns to look at the host with a sardonic grin. “Really now, was that wise? I could leave you here and tell the wildlings that you are here to make them kneel and you would be dead in less than a week, most likely eaten.” He doesn’t say eaten by what (or who), letting their southron minds fill in the gaps, guessing they’d heard as vicious stories of wildlings as he had from Old Nan. He rides away with Osha, Hodor and Jon following. Thirty seconds later he hears Stannis’ host following too. He has won this round and he intends to keep on winning until he has his sisters back, even if it means taking the Iron Throne that he doesn’t want. But then, his father had gone to war to win the Iron Throne and let his friend have it. Bran will be content with the North, but his brother had been made King of the Trident too, so should the Riverlords declare him their king too, he wouldn’t say no. And Iron Isles were once part of the Riverlands. It would be wrong to take one and not the other.

Half an hour later they are at the gate that opens for them easily enough, letting them to the Castle Black where Bran, smiling, tells Janos Slynt the terms and doesn’t look away when the man’s sword falls, the man following, bleeding red all over, Osha’s unicorn dagger tainted red.

“Now, the Night’s Watch need a new Lord Commander but I would like to remind everyone here that once you’ve taken your vows, you’ve cast aside all other loyalties but especially your loyalty to the southron kings. You’re not part of the Seven Kingdoms any more. You are now part of the Free and Independent Kingdom of the North and no lord south of the neck means anything here unless they are sending supplies,” Bran reminds the gathered Black Brothers. “Which they haven’t been. In fact, if I remember correctly, the Lannisters even killed men of the Night’s Watch and took men intended for the Wall as prisoners of their own. But then, southrons don’t understand the meaning of the Wall and I’m not sure everyone here does either. Someone, recite the vow to me,” he asks the gathered Black Brothers.

“Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night’s Watch, for this night and all nights to come,” recites someone dutifully.

Bran nods his thanks and turns back to the other Black Brothers. “Nowhere in the vow does it say you serve the Seven Kingdoms or the Iron Throne or some individual lord but the _realms of men_. The Free folk are men just as we are. They bleed red and die as easily as we do. And as they are men, it is your sworn duty to protect them from the real threat. Jon has told me the Others can’t cross the Wall but that whights can so you can’t be ignorant of the threat, having seen dead bodies rise again. Now please open the gates to your fellow men and think before you vote, it can’t be too hard.”

By nightfall the Free folk are still trickling in through the gate, those that volunteer to fight the Others being directed west, those wanting to fight with Bran directed to the tents and those too young or just wanting to settle somewhere safer are kept at the Castle Black for now as they were obviously the smallest group. Bran’s group was the largest at fifteen thousand wildlings joining him and there was differing between the spearwives and their male counterparts. They may not be very refined fighters but Bran could already see his men teaching the wildlings more effective ways of fighting.


	6. The Iron Isles

The plan is that they would stop by the northern mountain clans on the way to settling those wildlings that want to settle down from where they would travel to Deepwood Motte and retake it from the ironborn, keeping as many as possible alive. From there they would send a raven to Bear Island and they would coordinate the attack on Iron Isles. And after they had the Iron Isles, they would turn to the Boltons and rebuilding Winterfell and forging trade connections with the free cities so that they could store food for the Winter that was coming faster every day.

But, as nothing ever goes as planned, word comes that Joffrey has declared Roose Bolton the Warden of the North and a royal legitimization for his son and heir Ramsay Bolton, formerly Snow. Those houses not firmly in Bran’s camp are forced to swear allegiance to the Boltons but only Houses Dustin, Ryswell and Stout are likely to keep their vows. The mountain clans are loyal to Starks, always have been, always will be as they once again swore. The Skagos clans don’t care who sits in Winterfell as long as they leave them alone and don’t bother them beyond the taxes. The Neck will remain loyal to the Starks as long as the Reeds reign there and will make it difficult for people to move back and forth. Lord Manderly declared for Bran openly too but Bran feels Lord Manderly would be more happy that Rickon was the only Stark alive as he is younger and many would think him easier to control. Bran wants to laugh because Rickon is unpredictable at best and completely uncontrollable at worst. Yes, Rickon listens to Bran and Osha most of the time but that’s mostly because Bran has had Summer demonstrate his dominance over Shaggydog and Osha is the closest thing Rickon has to a mother. But, with Lord Manderly came Houses Locke, Woolfield and Flint of Widow’s Watch. This means that there is a strip of Bolton controlled land through the North, from Blazewater Bay to the Last River, never mind that the ironborn were still in control of Torrhen’s Square, Moat Cailin and Flint’s Finger.

The Bear Islanders have found twenty-three longboats hidden all along the shore and while it isn’t a fleet quite yet, it should be enough for them to at least take over Pyke if need be. Also Asha Greyjoy was found in Deepwood Motte when they took it. Bran hopes he can either hold her hostage or, more hopefully, get her to swear fealty to the Winter Throne and then grant her the lordship of Iron Isles. There is no way Bran would trust Theon ever again, so that removed him from the equation.

“I will make you the Lord of Iron Isles if you in turn swear fealty to the Winter Throne,” says Bran coldly to Asha Greyjoy, sitting in front of the Master’s chair in the great hall of Deepwood Motte. “You may continue raiding the Westerlands and the Reach until it has been resolved whether or not the Riverlands will join the Kingdom of the North. If they do not, you may raid them too, but I will not tolerate you raiding my Kingdom. Your heir, may it be your bastard daughter or legitimate son, will be fostered at Winterfell from their eighth name day until their fourteenth name day when they will return to you to learn what it means to rule the Iron Isles. This practice would continue as long as the Iron Isles are part of the North, the heir fostered at Winterfell for six years. Should your brother be found, he will be returned to you but I should tell you this: Theon Greyjoy will never be the Lord of Iron Isles. I’ll rather have his head than trust him in a position of authority again.”

“And if I don’t agree to your terms?” Asha asks.

“Well, you better hope your uncles ransom for you, which I find unlikely as your father’s death was so convenient for them. Otherwise I have no use for you and Blizzard hungers for blood. It will also save me from feeding you in the Winter,” is the emotionless reply.

“The people on the Isles will be hungry too.”

A smile ghosts over Bran’s face. “And the North takes care of its own, meaning supplies for a lower cost and for free for the poorest.”

“It’s a deal,” Asha says, looking Bran in his ice blue eyes.

Bran’s smile becomes real and he motions for the guards to bring Asha forward. He meaningfully hands Asha one of the unicorn horn daggers and she realizes what he wants.

She takes the dagger, slashing it across her right palm. “With the saltwater in my blood, Iron in my bones and sea wind in my sails, I, Asha the Kraken’s Daughter, swear to you, King of Winter, my and mine eternal service and loyalty until the Others take me and mine and you and yours. In exchange for service and loyalty to you and yours, me and mine will receive help and protection against Winter and foes.”

Bran takes the bloodied dagger and slashes his own palm, offering it to Asha who takes it, mingling their bloods. “With ice in my blood, Winter in my bones and snow in my hair, I, Brandon Stark the King of Winter, accept Asha the Kraken’s Daughter into my service and protection, until you and yours join the Drowned God and me and mine join the Gods in weirwood trees. Should you or yours betray me and mine, may your souls forever wander the Seven Hells, never reaching the halls of the Drowned God.”

With the oath over and done with Asha is freed of her shackles and Bran gives her the bloodied dagger. “I give everyone who enters my service this kind of dagger. May you prove worthy of the blade.”

Asha looks it over and notes the strange white color, masterful forging and the aquamarine stone in the handle but doesn’t see the reason for such words. She voices her opinion and Bran smiles secretively. “Ask Osha about it, she can tell you it’s monetary as well as practical value.”

Two days later Bran calls a tactical meeting and says that they should take over the Iron Isles as soon as possible. Most of the fleet would be raiding Westerlands and the Reach so it would be an ideal time to strike. Bran also tells Asha that he will not expect her and the other ironborn to fight (as ironborn does not spill the blood of another ironborn) but they would be expected to man the ships as few of the northmen can sail. Asha accepts, relieved that her new King doesn’t expect her to go against age old custom.

They make quick work and two weeks later Asha sits on the Seastone chair, her uncle Euron kneeling in front of her, bound. Bran sits on her right on the most comfortable chair in all of Pyke, Rickon standing on his right and Summer and Shaggydog sitting behind them. They have grown to the size of ponies, a size Grey Wind hadn’t reached yet by the time of his untimely death.

“I’ve heard you kept my chair warm for me, uncle,” Asha says pleasantly.

Euron spits at her feet.

“What? No warm welcome for your only niece? I’m disappointed, uncle,” mocks Asha.

“I hear he styles himself a crow,” Bran joins the conversation. “I’m curious if he can fly,” he says just as a few crows fly in and one lands on his shoulder, the other on the back of his chair.

“Aye, Crow’s Eye he calls himself,” Asha agrees. “But just recently he wondered if every man could fly. He said that no man knows what he can do until he tries. Let’s see if he can.”

Without ceremony Euron is taken to the top of one of Pyke’s highest towers and made stand on the edge. He could choose to take the step and fall to the rocks below or be speared by the guards. Through one of the crows’ eyes Bran sees Euron hurtle through the air and smash to the wet rocks below where the sea quickly eats up any evidence of his choice.


	7. Riverrun part I

One bright and cold morning the guards of Seaguard are perplexed when they see the twenty longboats in the horizon with the sigil of House Stark. Until recently, the ironborn had been a menace to the Riverlands but House Stark had been their ally and _King_ until the Red Wedding four moons previously. And they are Edmure Tully’s relatives…  The guards are uncertain if they should sound alarm or welcome the arrivals. Before they can do either, Lord Mallister is ordering a warm welcome for King Brandon Stark and his entourage, clutching a piece of paper, ideal for the size of a raven letter.

Half an hour later the two guards who had first noticed the long boats are standing on the docks and couldn’t help flinching when two wolves the size of a pony jump from the boats. They have heard of Robb Stark’s direwolf and its massive size but even the stories couldn’t have prepared them for the real thing. Nor had the whispers of King Brandon’s young age and disability to walk prepared them for the eleven-year-old boy with a white crown carried on the back of a giant man, two crows flying around him. Another little boy, Prince Rickon, runs behind him, happily skipping on the blanks, a white dagger on his belt. In fact, they can see the same kind of white daggers on Asha Greyjoy, one of the northern women, most likely a Mormont, a lad of thirteen with dark brown hair and a tall woman who barely looks like a woman unless she is smiling at King Brandon or Prince Rickon.

King Brandon tells Lord Mallister that he is marching to Riverrun to free his uncle and great uncle from the Lannisters, that he has a host already taking care of the Bolton problem in the North, headed by Mance Rayder the Wildling King, and that he would hear if the Riverlords wanted him as the King of the Trident after he’d dealt with the Freys.

Two days later the same guards are marching with the northern and ironborn host as snow begins to fall lightly for the first time in a decade.

 

Bran sits on his horse and flies over the battle in his crow, Crowd. His other crow, Crown, is with his human skin. He sees most of the Riverlords turn against the Lannisters in the beginning of the battle but he also sees the Lannister reinforcements led by Jamie Lannister. Then he sees his late brother’s northern host of ten thousand men flanking them as planned from south trapping them between the Red Fork, Brynden Tully leading a charge from Riverrun against the remaining Lannisters in west and Bran’s host of Ironmen and Northmen took on the forces on Tumblestone’s shore. Soon it became a Lannister massacre with Bran’s twenty thousand strong host against five thousand Lannisters. Bran had given instructions to take as many hostages as possible but as the Lannisters fought to the last breath, they only manage to secure about five hundred hostages, a quarter of what Bran had hoped but he would make do.

Returning to himself Bran starts to ride from the tree line of Whispering Wood to the battlefield, Rickon sitting in front of him (when they get back to North, Rickon will get his own pony, he is getting too old to ride with someone). Osha and Richard Flint ride after him followed closely by the token guard of twenty soldiers but Bran knows Summer and Shaggydog could have taken care of any Lannisters trying to come at them. Amongst his men he is greeted cheerfully despite that he hadn’t been able to personally lead them in battle but Asha Greyjoy and Alysane Mormont have done an admirable job. He has his men start putting up tents because Riverrun won’t be able to house them all and he is taken to Riverrun to meet his uncle Edmure and great uncle the Blackfish. The boat ride is short and goes through the Water Gate. Summer and Shaggy, having learned to swim on Pyke, swim through the river to Riverrun. Edmure, skinny from imprisonment but otherwise fine, and Brynden Tully were there to welcome them. Bran lifts himself from the boat and waits patiently for Osha to lift him to the basket on Hodor’s back as Shaggy and Summer shook to rid themselves of the excess water in their fur.

“Your Grace,” uncle Edmure says as he kneels, prompting everyone else to kneel too.

“Uncle,” Bran nods seriously. “Great uncle. Is my goodsister here?”

“Yes your Grace,” the Blackfish answers with rough voice. “And swelling too.”

“I had suspected that,” Bran says with a small frown. “Until the babe reaches majority I will be regent. Then he or she will be given the throne.”

Asha purses her lips but doesn’t say anything.

“And your wife, uncle? Does she remain at the Twins?”

“Yes, but not voluntarily,” Edmure answers. “She is pregnant too.”

Bran sighs. “Then that is one more hostage to rescue from the Twins.”

“Other news, your Grace,” Edmure continues. “Your sister Sansa has disappeared from King’s Landing and according to rumor your other sister Arya is traveling North to marry Ramsay Bolton.”

“They won’t make it past the Neck and Meera and Jojen will bring Arya to meet us at the Twins,” Bran says. “Sansa… I suppose I better start looking for her. Crown, Crowd, you know what she looks like,” he tells his crows. “Start with near King’s Landing but then slowly move North.” The crows caw and fly off and he turns back to his uncles. “They will be back when they have news of Sansa.”

“Bran, when do I get my other skin?” Rickon asks, ignoring his uncles.

“When you find it,” answers Bran with a smile. “Or it finds you. Crown and Crowd found me, if you remember. But Briar said that not everyone have multiple skins, she only has one, and I know you love Shaggy. If I remember correctly, it is rare to have a skin as young as you are, but in a few years I can teach you to warg with animals you’re not bonded with.”

“Why can’t you teach me now?” whines Rickon.

“Because I am busy with the war and your mind needs more time to strengthen itself. Any more animal influence on it right now and you would become more animal than human and I like you human, thank you very much,” Bran answers with a tone of finality. “But since you seem so keen on learning, how about those House sigils, keeps and words, hmm, little brother?”

“House Stark, Winterfell, _Winter Is Coming_ , a grey direwolf on white. House Tully, Riverrun, _Family, Duty, Honor_ , a trout on blue and muddy red,” Rickon lists with a roll of his eyes. “House Arryn, the Eyrie, _As High as Honor_ , a blue eagle in a white circle on blue. House Greyjoy, Pyke, _We do not Sow_ , a golden kraken on black. House Tyrell, Highgarden, _Grow Strong_ , a golden rose on green. House Martell, Sunspear, _Unbowed, unbent, unbroken_ , a spear through a sun on orange. House Baratheon, Storm’s End and Dragonstone, _Ours is the Fury_ , a black stag on gold. House Targaryen, exiled, before that, Red Keep, Dragonstone and Summerhall, _Fire and Blood_ , a red three headed dragon on black. House Lannister, Casterly Rock, _Hear Me Roar!_ , a golden lion on scarlet, we hate them because they took father, mother, Robb, Sansa and Arya away. Do you want me to list every house in the North too, or have I proved that I know enough for today?” he asks sarcastically.

Bran grins. “Indeed you have, but I’ll ask the Northern houses tomorrow, so be prepared.”

Rickon grins too. “Yes your Grace,” he says and showed his tongue up at Bran.

“Go catch snowflakes with that thing or something,” Bran shoos him deeper into Riverrun and Rickon doesn’t need to be told twice. “Osha-“

“On it, little King,” Osha says and takes after Rickon and Shaggy, leaving Bran with his uncles, Asha, Alysane, Hodor and Richard.

“Are you a warg, your Grace?” the Blackfish asks rather bluntly.

“Yes, as is Rickon and as I suppose Robb was,” Bran answers, cold once again. “Does it bother you?”

The Blackfish shook his head. “As long as you know your limits your Grace. I’ve heard of some that don’t want to be humans anymore after flying as a bird or swimming as a fish.”

“And the call will be twice as bad for me for I cannot even run on my own,” Bran says seriously. “But I will always come back because Rickon needs me and I have responsibilities that I accepted when my people crowned me King after Robb’s death.”

“Please, come inside,” Edmure shifts uneasily. “Jeyne has been asking to meet you as soon as you came.”

Bran nods and Hodor follows Edmure and the Blackfish.


	8. Riverrun part II

Jeyne Westerling, or rather Jeyne Stark, as it may be, is pretty enough, Bran supposes, if she were healthy. She isn’t the handsome beauty Asha is, nor the golden, radiant beauty Queen Cersei is, nor the gentle summer beauty hiding the ice as his sister Sansa is, nor even the wild beauty his aunt Lyanna was said to be and that Arya is supposed to become but she is prettier than Osha. She has chestnut colored curls that are lacking in sheen and her skin is pasty at best and her swelling stomach is awkward on her otherwise slender, short frame. Her smile is shy and hesitant and Bran can’t see any steel in her that might have helped her survive in the North had Robb lived and eventually brought her to Winterfell. Their Lady Mother had survived on the power of rushing rivers that ran too fast to freeze but Jeyne only has the strength of a fragile seashell. Eventually she would have come to hate Robb for marrying her and taking her North where men are calloused and women more practical than courteous. She’s a summer lady through and through and callously Bran thinks it’d be better for her if she died at childbirth than move North with her child. He just hopes Robb’s heir has ice in his veins and Winter in his bones because a summer King can’t rule the North, never mind the rightful line of succession.

But for now he has to be gentle with her and he sends Summer to find Shaggy and Rickon when he sees Jeyne flinch at the sight of him. After that Bran is certain that she wouldn’t have made it as Queen in the North and for the first time he thinks something good came out of his brother’s death. It is a callous thing to think but he can’t help himself, she would have been the weak link in the pack, the one every outsider would have attacked and she would have broke under the constant assault.

Hodor sits him on the plush chair that the southrons are so fond of and Bran sends him to wait outside the door until Bran feels the need to move again. Then he turns his attention back to his goodsister.

“Uncle Edmure said you wanted to meet me,” he says, voice cooler than with Hodor but not as icy as the one he’d used with Edmure and the Blackfish.

“Yes,” Jeyne says with a minuscule smile from her bed. “Robb talked about you.”

“Probably not as much as he talked about our brother Jon,” answers Bran and inclines his head. “But that is understandable as I am much younger than he was. But whenever I needed him, he was there.”

“He said you wanted to be a knight before…” she trails off, uncertain how to phrase it without insulting Bran.

“Before I fell, yes,” Bran finishes for her. “And I was going to be a good one but then I fell. There is no skirting around my useless legs, my lady. I’ve come to accept my fate even if I don’t particularly like it.”

“Robb didn’t want to be King either,” Jeyne whispers, eyes clouded over with memory.

Bran snorts. “In the North the Starks were always Kings in all but name. Even if Robb hadn’t been crowned he would still have had the same respect and authority as he did when he was King. And really, it was only the matter of time before the North crowned the Starks again after the dragons died. But Robb was more prepared for it than I am, I was meant to be naught but the spare and rule my corner of the North for him.”

“How you must hate me,” she says weakly.

Bran arches an eyebrow. “I hate naught but the Lannisters. But you must understand I was angry at Robb when I heard he wed you. Had he been anyone else, he would have walked away and never looked back, wedded his Frey girl and ruled North for many years. That could have also happened had he not attended our uncle’s wedding. But as I am the younger brother he never heeded my warnings. So no, Jeyne Westerling, I do not hate you for to hate you is to hate Robb and I can never hate him.”

A serene smile spreads over her gaunt face. “Thank you your Grace, it eases my mind.”

“Shall I send someone in for you?”

“No, I just wish to sleep. Thank you for coming to see me, your Grace.”

“Of course,” Bran nods and calls Hodor back in.

By dinnertime the hostages had been separated into three different groups: the useless, the ones to be ransomed to their wealthy families and the highborn that are truly important. Only Jamie Lannister and Ryman and Edwyn Frey are in that last group and the useless are to be sent to the Wall to Jon. Lord Commander Snow is always happy to receive more men as the threat of the Others grows daily. He had Jamie Lannister brought to him first to the Great Hall of Riverrun, in front of his commanding officers. Bran thinks he hears Sybell Spicer sniff disapprovingly at him but he ignores her completely.

Jamie Lannister has changed from the last time Bran has seen him, and not simply because this time he is clothed. He has lost his right hand and some of his arrogant attitude and something softens in his green eyes as he looks at Bran. Then his arrogant smile returns but the soft look does not disappear.

“Well, if isn’t Bran the Broken,” he greets cheerfully before doubling over as a guard slams his fist to his stomach. He gasps for air but the fact that he doesn’t fall to his knees is testament that the blow was a mere warning. Bran has seen that particular guard crash skulls with his bare hands.

“You may call me Your Grace, Kingslayer,” Bran says evenly.

“Are you sure you want your brother to be here for this?” Jamie asks, looking at Rickon on Bran’s right.

“He has been there every time I’ve taken over something and then dealt with the prisoners. He watched Euron Greyjoy’s attempt at flying as well as Victarion Greyjoy’s execution for refusal to swear fealty to his new Lord. It was bloody business, that second one,” answers Bran with a small, wolfish smile.

“New Lord? You?” asks Jamie skeptically.

“Of course not, Asha Greyjoy,” Bran says and gestures to Asha on the left side of the hall. “My Master of Ships. I don’t suppose you know of a Lannister willing to turn cloak and become my Master of Coin, as everyone knows Lannister’s shit gold.”

“You’ve taken up your brother’s mantel then? A Cripple King?”

“If I’m good enough for my people, others should not worry about my worth, least of all you. Your troops listen to you after all, you with no honor and an impure love for your sister,” Bran points out.

“That has yet to be proven,” Jamie counters and Bran might be imagining things but the thinks he sees a flash of shame in his eyes.

“So it was your identical triplet fucking your sister in the Broken Tower at Winterfell?” Bran says, resting his chin on his left palm, smiling amusedly, knowing he has Jamie in a corner. “What did you say again as you pushed me down from that window? “The things I do for love,” wasn’t it?”

Jamie arches an eyebrow. “I suppose your memory has returned, then.”

“Indeed. The Free folk may be somewhat wild but they know things that Maesters can only dream of,” Bran smiles chillingly and enjoys the shiver this causes in Jamie. “But what shall I do with you? Both my sisters have somehow escaped King’s Landing so there is no need to ransom you for them. But then, I hear Daenerys Targaryen is gathering an army in the free cities and you would be a nice peace offering to her, not that Jorah Mormont hasn’t been doing an admirable job of calming her wrath at the independent North. You can never be too careful with dragons. But then again, I could simply have your head and send it to your sister and son in King’s Landing. Were we any more North and were the times any less civilized I might have sacrificed you in front of a heart tree like the Winter Kings of old. I think dying slowly as your intensities are slowly pulled from you as you slide down toward the ground was a particular favorite sacrificial method of the Starks of old. Or maybe I could be lenient and send you to the wall among the other four hundred men who have no one to ransom for them. But then again, you’ve already showed how much your oaths mean to you so it would only be a matter of time before you deserted. Any thoughts, Kingslayer?”

“I would prefer a quick, clean death by beheading if you’re not going to let me live,” shrugs Jamie. “But I suppose I should tell you that I treated with your lady mother for my freedom. I was supposed to escort your sisters safely back to them and was accompanied by Brienne of Tarth, but as you know, both your sisters have disappeared and I’ve been looking for them ever since.”

“Should she come forward within thirty days, I will allow you to live, should she not, you will be beheaded, and if she comes forward and calls you out on a broken promise, you will be hanged like a common criminal. The word will be spread, don’t worry that only us in this hall will know of your fate. You have thirty days, Jamie Lannister, thirty days,” Bran says, looking Jamie in the eyes before he has him lead away.

Next he has the Freys brought in. “Do you suppose old man Walder would care to pay for his heir and his heir’s heir?”

“No,” Edwyn Frey answers bluntly, ignoring his father sniveling for mercy. “Because I already have an heir.”

“Yes, little Walda, wasn’t she, a year younger than I,” Bran points out. “And heir to the Twins unless you produce a son. My, what a dangerous position for a little girl, especially with an uncle like hers.”

“What do you want?” Edwyn grits out.

“My brother back,” Bran throws at him. “But I’ll never get what I want because House Frey broke the guest right. But, what can you expect from a house younger than a thousand years? From a house that climbed to where they are now by extorting those wanting to cross a river?”

“I wasn’t there for that,” Edwyn points.

“Because you’re not handy with a sword and would have been at best a distraction to your kinsmen during the massacre. But what I want from you is your name on this paper,” Bran says and holds out a folded piece of paper. “Your father will be hanged on the morrow and after we march to the Twins and hang your great-grandfather and most of your cousins, uncles and great uncles, I want you to rule the Twins, never having another child, legitimate or otherwise. I will then marry your daughter once she has flowered and our second son will inherit the Twins from you. Of course, if you do not sign it, you will die with your father on the morrow and I will still marry your daughter.”

Reluctantly Edwyn takes the paper and reads it over. It is almost your normal betrothal contract but for the demands he never father another child and that he name his daughter’s second son as his heir and that his daughter be fostered at her future husband’s keep. Sullenly he signs it and with it he signs the Twins over to the Starks, trying to ignore the triumphant look in the Cripple King’s ice cold Tully blue eyes, hoping he hasn’t doomed his only child, the only thing he loves in this world, to as miserable an existence as his.


	9. The Twins part I

Brienne of Tarth is without a question one of the homeliest women Bran has ever seen. She isn’t like Osha who just looks like a man, but she has coarse features and straw colored hair, is tall, too tall for a woman, and broad and flat chested and is covered in freckles. Her teeth are prominent and crooked, her mouth wide, her lips swollen and she has broken her nose many times. But she also has large blue eyes that scream the need to be accepted, like Arya when she was with Sansa and mother, and Bran can’t help liking her, even if just for that one reminder of his wildling sister.

“Lady Brienne,” he says. “I take it you have come for Jamie Lannister.”

“Yes your Grace,” Brienne nods. “He has tried to find your sisters and when he couldn’t be out there himself, he made sure I had everything I needed to effectively search of them.”

“And why would he do this?” asks Bran. “I can’t help but wonder.”

“Your Lady Mother said it was the only chance he has at regaining his honor, your Grace,” Brienne answers. “I have never seen words affect a man more. Since then, he has tried to become more honorable in his own way. I hope you spare his life for he has become a good friend.”

Bran catches the faint blush on her cheeks as she talks of the Kingslayer and can’t help the amusement rising in his chest. He has the Kingslayer brought from the dungeons. “Would you be willing to take responsibility for his actions?” he asks her. “Has he changed enough for you to lay your life in his hands?”

“Yes your Grace,” Brienne says firmly.

Bran smiles chillingly at Jamie. “Congratulations, you remain alive. But I strip you of your knighthood. You may earn it back from Lady Brienne after she thinks you’re good enough with a sword and after you’ve learned true honor, not just the code of chivalry. I suspect the second part will take longer than the first.” He pulls out a letter. “This came for you a few days ago. Now that you’re free, I suppose I should give it to you.”

Jamie takes and reads the letter, snorting. “Burn it,” he says with a sneer and thrusts the letter to a servant.

Bran looks at him expectantly and he sighs, relenting. “My sister is being accused by the Faith for killing the previous high septon and King Robert, of infidelity and incest and other more minor crimes. She also beseeches me to come back to King’s Landing and be her champion.” He grins crockedly. “Too bad I’m not longer a knight. But then, there would be no honor in fighting for her as she is guilty.”

Bran tilts his head slightly. “Maybe you can be taught true honor after all.”

Not quite a week later Bran gets a raven from the North in which Mors “Crowfood” Umber writes that the Boltons have been captured and that the tortured prisoners, some of whom have been partly flayed, will be left at Winterfell to heal and help in the castle’s repairs. The northern host is marching to the Twins and Crowfood estimates it will take them three weeks to travel through the snow. He also writes that Bran needs to appoint a new Lord for Barrowton, Lady Dustin having died in crossfire, and that Roger Ryswell is now the Lord of the Rills. Dreadfort is without a lord as well but “that keep should be burned to the ground” advises Crowfood.

Four days after that Crown and Crowd return and after a slight warging with one of them, Bran sees that Sansa is in the Vale. Her hair seems darker than it should be, but as the crows do not see in colors, Bran can’t be sure. She is with their cousin Robert Arryn, a sickly little boy who is supposed to be only a year younger than Bran himself but seems younger than Rickon. Bran wants to tut at the boy. He needs to grow strong to be the Lord Paramount and the Defender of the Vale and Warden of East. Unfortunately the boy might die before the Winter is even halfway over.

Still, she seemed to be fine for a while longer, meaning Bran could take care of the Freys before heading to the Vale.

A week after Crown and Crowd’s return Bran and his host started marching to the Twins where they arrive eleven days later, just in time as the northern host marches on the opposite shore. Both hosts stay far enough from the Twins not to be shot with arrows. Eventually Bran sends a letter with Crowd but doesn’t enter him as the Freys are just as likely to kill Crowd as send a message back.

In the letter Bran told them that they are surrounded on all sides and no matter how well fortified the Twins were, they would fall eventually. In his letter he said that Old Walder Frey was no longer recognized as the Lord of the Crossing by the other Riverlords and that Lord Edwyn Frey would take over. Should the Twins surrender, no other Frey would die but those that had been part of the Red Wedding. If the armies are forced to take the Twins, accidents could happen to anyone. As Crowd flies back without a message and the Twins remain closed, Bran knows they can’t avoid the battle.

Hidden by the dark winter night wildlings take small river boats from upriver and row under the bridge from where they scale to the bridge rather than trying a frontal assault against the gates. The Freys are secure in the knowledge that other Freys are on the other end of the bridge and not one door leading to the bridge is locked, making it easy for the wildlings to sneak through the sleeping castles and silently slit the guards’ throats before opening the gates on both ends, letting the hosts in. The Freys are caught sleeping in their beds and the men are restrained until the next morning when Bran will deal with them, Edwyn being the puppet lord. The women, wives and daughters of the Freys, are made sleep more closely, mothers and daughters often made to share the same bed, sometimes even grandmother, mother and daughter. This leaves many rooms free but even the Twins can’t hold forty thousand plus men.

Roslin Frey Tully is found in a tower room, her door locked, and belly only slightly smaller than Jeyne’s. At first she flinches away from those that come to her room but when Edmure comes to her, she starts to cry and clings to him, mumbling something about a dream. Bran leaves his uncle to deal with his wife, feeling this is something private and will most likely lead to more intimate things.

A number of Stark bannermen and Riverlords are found in the dungeons, the Greatjon and Ser Marq Piper included and not much worse for wear save for the lost weight. Bran doesn’t have the time to meet them right then because he has to put Rickon to bed and promises to meet with them in the morning, before any Freys are judged. Just as the last story of the evening ends, Bran hears howling outside the castle and settles beside Rickon before letting his mind find Summer and going to take a look.

It is a giant she-wolf, a direwolf, that smells familiar but as he is up wind, can’t quite determine what, leading a pack of a hundred of their little grey cousins. Bran can tell she is the alpha, but he also knows she wasn’t always, that she, as a female, submitted to her male litter-mates. Bran also knows he’s bigger and could win a fight against her but be gravely wounded in the process which isn’t something he’d want. Then Shaggydog is behind him and he knows together they can take her even easier, without endangering themselves. Their little grey cousins are hungry and the horse-meat in the human-cave calls to them but the horses are important so Bran can’t let them eat the horses. He growls warningly to the she-wolf, saying that these particular humans aren’t pray, ears erect, canines bared and fur bristled. The she-wolf sniffs at him, relaxing as she recognizes him. He and Shaggy step closer warily and sniff her too. She smells of pack, like Ghost in the cold place. They had two sisters, Lady who returned as bones and Nymeria who ran, leaving her mistress when she most needed her. Pack means they won’t attack her but she has also been gone for nearly two years. They tell this to her but offer her a chance to earn their trust back. There will be a time when they will call for her and her pack of little grey cousins and when they do, they expect Nymeria to answer the call. But before that, she is to go south where it is warmer and west where the sun sets and eat as many men wearing red human furs with a sun colored beast on them. Bran and Shaggy would hunt with this night but after they expected Nymeria to go eat those with the red human furs.

With that Bran returns to himself and lets himself fall into actual sleep rather than Summer’s mind.

He is up with the sun and no one minds that he sleeps in as it was on his orders and strategy they took the Twins last night. Lord Edwyn is already sitting in the Frey seat, a massive chair of black oak, its back carved to the shape of two towers joined by an arched bridge. A comfortably plush chair is on its right side, obviously set for Bran and he has Hodor seat him on it. The Greatjon is the third to arrive for breakfast, demanding loudly for eggs and bacon “and don’t be shy with those crisp ones,” as well as ale to wash it all down.

“Your Grace,” he says to Bran, “I’m happy to meet you again! I only hope I could have saved your brother.”

“Don’t we all,” Bran answers with a thin smile. “But I am happy to see you again. I hope you were not offended that I didn’t met you last night, after my uncle’s wife was found, I had to go put my brother to sleep. He is only seven, you understand.”

“Of course,” chuckled the Greatjon. “But why is he with you at all? If you don’t mind me asking, your Grace.”

“I don’t mind,” says Bran. “And it’s simply because everyone else that have left us haven’t come back yet and Rickon doesn’t properly remember them anymore. He knows mother had red hair and that father looked like an older Jon Snow and that Sansa always smelled like lemons and that Arya was always being scolded and that Robb didn’t care enough to tell him goodbye in person. None of them came back. The Arya Stark that had been journeying to North to marry Ramsay Snow turned out to be Jeyne Poole, our father’s steward’s daughter, and I had to take the Twins before I can march to the Vale and demand Sansa back. I fear that if I leave Rickon, something will happen to either of us. As everyone knows, in the Winter a lone wolf dies but the pack survives. Now I’m just trying to rescue my lone wolf sisters from what happened to father and Robb, both lone wolves in the south.”

The Greatjon nods in understanding. “I suppose had the same happened to my family I would have done the same.”

Bran looks out of the window. “I just hope they won’t resent me for taking so long.”

“They’d be fools if they did,” the Greatjon huffs. “I’ve known men who would have given up after their brother was killed and were in your situation. They would have slunk away and wait for their physically fit brothers to grow up and then simply be the brain behind their brothers, hiding behind them. You’re a real Stark, not giving up against such odds.”

“Thank you,” Bran says with a warm smile. “But I couldn’t hide behind Rickon if I tried. Yes, he will be able to stand and fight where I can only help in the planning but he’s my baby brother. I could never ask him to do something I wasn’t willing to do myself and believe me, ruling is the scariest thing I’ve ever done. My decisions affect people’s lives on daily basis, I have to have an answer to every problem, I must seem doubly strong to make up for my disability to walk. The only thing heavier than the crown is Rickon’s complete trust in me, yet he’s also the only thing making this whole thing lighter, him and my “little court” as Alysane took to calling the children warded on Bear Island.”

“It must be hard, being a King and not yet two-and-ten.”

“Oh yes, I was quite content being a prince but then Robb didn’t heed my advice. I doubt he would have heeded my advice had I become a Maester and told him to rest in bed after being sick. Don’t misunderstand me, he was all I could have hoped for in a brother, but sometimes he was too proud for his own good,” Bran grumbles. He resents and at the same time doesn’t resent his brother for not listening to him about nor going to the Red Wedding. He resents him because Robb was supposed to be the protector of the family and he went and died, knowing Bran isn’t able to _step into_ his shoes. He wonders if this is how father felt after uncle Brandon was killed, the second son, the less favored son, then the quiet, serious son, now the broken son, being tasked with protecting two unwed sisters and a younger brother. But then he remembers the reason Robb married and broke the alliance with the Freys: love. A summer love, yes, but still a love. Their parents had been happy and loved each other. Of course Robb would want that from his own marriage but he hadn’t understood that their parents’ happiness was the prize of hard labor. Their mother had for the longest time thought she would marry their uncle Brandon and had most likely fallen in love with the outgoing, happy, handsome heir of Winterfell, and yet she had ended up being married to his quiet, not as comely brother. And father had had a lover, Bran knows. He listens to the stories (or gossip, as it might be) and while romances aren’t his favorite, he can suffer through them, and knows of Ashara Dayne, the supposed mother of Jon. But they had both entered the marriage determined to make it work and had found happiness in each other. Had they not been willing to work on it, they could have become bitter and Bran might not exist at all but a dozen bastards in his, Rickon, Sansa and Arya’s place. Only Robb and Jon would have been certain but would they have become the men they did? Would Jon be the honorable man he is? Would Robb have discarded Jeyne after bedding her? So many things could have been different had his parents not fallen in love with each other, so for that he doesn’t resent Robb for his choices.

Bran is brought back from his musings by Lady Maege Mormont and Alysane entering the hall, loudly exchanging news and Alysane praising Bran’s tactical mind to the heavens. Lady Maege spots him soon enough and stomps over, Alysane following in her wake.

“Good morrow, your Grace,” they greet him in chorus, taking seats in front of him.

“Good morrow,” Bran greets back. “Lady Mormont, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

“And you, your Grace,” the lady of Bear Island nods. “Alysane has told me of everything you’ve done so far. Treating with the wildlings and taking over the Iron Isles. It’s what the real Kings of Winter would do.”

“But not my brother,” Bran says, looking up at her through his fringe. “He fought too far in the south without understanding the rules here. Like my father.”

“Aye, your Grace,” Lady Maege agreed. “Your father was a great general but a politician he was not.”

“No, he wasn’t, as Robb wasn’t either.”

“So how did you become as adept as you are?”

“I’m not a born and bred politician but I learnt from their mistakes,” he says, looking lady Maege straight in the eyes. “I learned from history and gossip. Many think Torrhen Stark was the weakest Stark king ever, but I find him perhaps the wisest. He could have challenged Aegon and his sisters but most of his people would have burned because of his decision. And then what? He’d have been killed, as would have his children most likely which would have left Starks extinct after seven thousand and seven hundred years as well as made the Boltons the Great house of North. No, being the first person of the North to bend the knee left a good impression on Aegon and Torrhen got to keep his lands even is he had to give up his crown, but he was still comparable to a King in the North. It was the only politically correct as well as logical choice. I hope Daenerys Targaryen doesn’t expect me to kneel though,” he japes with a roll of his eyes.

Lady Maege, Alysane and the Greatjon roar with laughter.


	10. The Twins part II

During breakfast Bran sees Meera and Jojen for the first time in two and a half months, as well as Bran Tallhart and Mance Rayder. Osha and Asha come down with Rickon who has become really taken with Asha and the way she commands her ships. After everyone has eaten and the servants have cleared everything away old Walder Frey is brought from the dungeons to face justice.

“You are accused of not answering the call of your liege lord,” Bran begins, “of plotting against the crown, of conspiring with known enemies of the crown, of treason, of breaking the guest right, of arranging the death of your acknowledged King, of murdering the mother of your King and of shaming the body of your King. How do you plead?”

“What is this?” cackles the old man, barely able to stand on his owns. “The pup’s younger cripple brother came to avenge his brother? And brought his baby brother along?”

“You have been accused of a plethora of crimes,” Bran says, ignoring his jabs. “How do you plead?”

“Ooh, come to kill me, have you? Then it matters not what I say, but let me tell you, your brother whined like that beast of his in his last moments. And that bitch you call mother went mad, clawing her own face and calling for her traitor husband for help,” the old man told with relish.

“I’m not the judge here,” Bran says with a smile. “I’m simply one of the jury. My uncle Edmure is the judge as is his right as the Lord paramount of Riverlands and Warden of the Rivers. And as the brother of the woman you just described. But I find you guilty of the charges. What does everyone else in the jury think?”

“Guilty,” Asha says instantly.

“Guilty,” pronounces Lady Maege.

“Guilty!” booms the Greatjon.

“Guilty,” comes from Meera, representing her father.

“I have a question first,” Mance says and asks for an explanation of Guest Rights which Alys Karstark quickly provides. “I see. Guilty.”

“Guilty,” Wylis Manderly judges, sealing old Walder’s fate as the seventh member of the jury but the judgment continues.

“Guilty,” Robett Glover insists.

“Guilty,” Jason Mallister agrees.

“Guilty,” Marq Piper sneers.

“Guilty,” Brienne says firmly, looking at Jamie and making sure he knew he was lucky to be alive he hadn’t been brought in front of a full Northern jury.

“Guilty,” lord Edwyn Frey says coldly, looking anywhere but at his great-grandfather.

“Lord Edmure, the jury have found Walder Frey guilty of not answering his liege lord’s call, plotting against the crown, conspiring with known enemies of the crown, treason, arranging his acknowledged King’s death, murdering the mother of his King and of shaming his King’s body,” Bran tells his uncle as if he hadn’t been there for the whole time. “What is your judgment?”

“Beheading,” Edmure announces. “If your Grace won’t mind, I’d like to use Blizzard for it.”

Bran inclines his head and Blizzard is brought forward by Richard Flint. Edmure unsheathes it and has the guards force old Walder to his knees and to bend forward, revealing his neck. Bran feels Rickon squeeze his hand under the table.

“Don’t look away Rickon,” he says gently, imagining his mother telling him how seven is too young to see such things. But Rickon won’t be seven for long anymore, just a few days. And it’s Winter, he will see much more and much worse before it is over, if it will be over on his life.

Dispassionately he watches as uncle Edmure recites his oath. “In the name of Brandon of the House Stark, the sixth of his name, King in the North and of Iron Isles and the Trident, and protector of the Realm, by the Word of Edmure of the House Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Warden of the Trident, I do sentence you to die.” Edmure swings the sword up, “And this is for my sister, you bastard,” and down using both hands though Bran knows the second hand is only used to steer the blade rather than because of the weight of the broadsword. Even Ice could be lifted one handedly but it became incredibly clumsy then, and blizzard was only three quarters of its weight. Old Walder’s head rolls, facing away from Bran and Rickon for which Bran is thankful for, Rickon doesn’t need to see hollow, dead eyes just yet.

Bran looks at Rickon who is paler than Bran has ever seen him and has eyes wide open and Bran hears Shaggy howling outside, Summer joining him soon enough. “You did well Rickon,” he says and Rickon turns to look at him.

Rickon bites his lip. “Was he protecting his pack when he killed Robb and mother?”

“No,” Bran shakes his head. “He killed them because he felt what was left of his honor was slighted. He was given compensation for it but he wasn’t satisfied so he killed mother and Robb to avenge the slight. But he sullied his own honor when he broke the guest right and killed them.”

“Then he deserved to die.”

“Really?” asks Bran. He fears he may have made Rickon respect life too little.

Rickon nods. “If he thought a slight on his honor was worth killing thousands of men for, he is better off dead where honor has no meaning.”

This answer surprises Bran and he realizes Rickon is actually growing up. He hasn’t seen his sisters in nearly two years now, and their direwolves are over two years old. But he is happy Rickon considers the lives of his vassals and vassals’ vassals and vassals’ vassals’ vassals worth more than one lord. “Do you know why uncle Edmure did it? Why he didn’t have an executioner do it?”

“Our way’s the old way,” comes the instant reply.

“The man who passes a sentence should swing the sword,” Bran tells him. “The people of the North will understand if I don’t do it, but I will always be present when someone will be beheaded in my name on my land. I will look into that persons eyes and hear that person’s last words because if I can’t do that, the person might not deserve to die after all. If you want to, you can go play outside but take Shaggy and Osha with you.”

Rickon shakes his head determinedly. “I will stay and see that the justice is passed accordingly. You are staying and these people will die in my name too.”

Pride fills Bran and he smiles at Rickon, squeezing his hand under the table. “I am proud of you,” he says. “Father and Robb would have been proud too.”

A bright smile steals over Rickon’s face and spontaneously he hugs Bran in front of everyone as the next Frey is brought in before settling down and turning to look ahead with a seriousness unusual for a boy his age. Bran feels his own mask of ice slip into place as he too turns his attention to the trials.

Dozens upon dozens of Freys and Rivers are judged, some beheaded, some sent to the Wall and some pardoned. Some were not at the Red Wedding but had done some other punishable crime, others had been unaware of the whole plan but had been at the Red Wedding and had to kill to protect themselves and then there were those that had been against the whole plot and had for this reason left the Twins before Red Wedding, to avoid from killing their comrades and from becoming kinslayer. The last group was the smallest, consisting only of Perwyn and Olyvar Frey. Perwyn had been aware of the plan and had argued loudly against it to the point where he had been threatened to silence. Olyvar hadn’t known and Perwyn had taken him away from the Twins, returning only after Robb Stark’s body had been taken down so that Olyvar wouldn’t have to see it. Though Olyvar hadn’t thanked him for it when he found out, he had shouted and thrown things around and had locked himself to his room for two weeks, only letting Roslin and his personal maid in. He hadn’t talked to anyone who was part of the Plan since. Both Perwyn and Olyvar were pardoned. Bran couldn’t leave Edwyn with only women and children. He would need a few men too and both Perwyn and Olyvar swore for Bran. Bran then made Perwyn the steward of the Twins, the actual ruler of the keep, just like the Hand of the King was the actual ruler of the Seven, sorry, Five Kingdoms. Olyvar is too young for any real position but Bran knows Perwyn will take care of him.

The trials go on until evening and still there are Freys to judge the following day but they are over halfway done and Bran can start planning what to do next. Edmure and the other freed Riverlords have named him the King of the Trident so he now had responsibility for them too which means taking over the Riverlands from Maidenpool to Pinkmaiden. But he could bring back Sansa before, he wasn’t actually needed. He could give the command of his forces to someone. Maybe a joint control for the Greatjon and the Blackfish. They were certainly his most experienced commanders. Asha could take the Iron fleet and the Lannister’s attention to the shore. The loot wouldn’t hurt either, in the form of food and gold. The food would be kept for the Iron Isles as would some of the gold but sixty percent of it would be sent to the North where it would be used to either buy more food from across the Narrow Sea or for rebuilding. Bran was going to take Crowsfood’s advice and torch Dreadfort to the ground but then he would also rebuild it, as he would Moat Cailin and Harrenhall when he got to that point. Though Harrenhall wouldn’t be merely a seat of power, it would serve as the main trading town between the Five Kingdoms and the North, the Keep would be more like a city than only a house for the Lord and his family. Moat Cailin would also be used for trading but it would also be the northest any land attack would come, as it had been for centuries. The Dreadfort (he would come up with a better name for it) he would give either to Richard Flint or Bran Tallhart, and Barrowton to the other. Moat Cailin would go to Rickon and he himself would keep Harrenhall when Robb’s child came off age and took the throne. There would be four Stark seats of power then; Winterfell, Moat Cailin, Harrenhall and the Twins. Sansa and Arya would (hopefully) marry well but it wouldn’t actually be needed and they could choose their own husbands. Or Arya could really become the knight she’d always wanted and Bran would make sure they would arrange tourneys for her to fight in. That is, if they found her…

Finding Arya would require thinking. Bran is sure she had escaped King’s Landing alive. She would have been heading North during a time that anyone traveling North would have been accosted and taken as Lannister prisoner. But as there had not been one whisper about Arya, she mustn’t have been recognized. After all, she had hardly been recognized at Winterfell after one of her more wild outings, dressed in Bran’s breeches. She could have easily disguised herself as a boy. But a girl can’t hide as a boy forever so she would have been outed as a girl to someone and unless that someone was dead, they were out there. Getting confirmation that she was alive then would be almost as important as the knowledge where she had been at the time. That meant asking around for her, setting out a rumor that the King in the North would pay for any information about Princess Arya Stark. The beginning would be asking around at taverns and luckily for him, Bran was going to pass through one on the way to getting to Sansa.


	11. On the road

They spend Rickon’s name day still at the Twins and for his birthday Bran has arranged a young horse for him. Rickon knows how to ride of course but he isn’t as comfortable in saddle as Bran was at his age. That may be because Bran hadn’t had need to journey far and wide and had had the time for actual lessons but if Rickon doesn’t get comfortable now, he never will later which means that Bran won’t let him ride with him no matter how much Rickon begs it. Three days after the feast Bran gives the orders to “secure the Riverlands” and relinquishes the command of the army to the Greatjon and the Blackfish and selects two hundred men to accompany him, Rickon, Osha, Bran Tallhart, Richard Flint, Meera and Jojen Reed, Brienne and Jamie to the Gates of the Moon where Sansa is at the moment, a force big enough to protect them but small enough not be taken as a threat. Traveling is slow because of the all the time increasing snow but all their horses are of the stocky northern breed praised for their stamina more than for their speed or agility. In ten days they reach Crossroads Inn which isn’t much of an Inn but more of an orphanage.

Bran looks around carefully. This is now his land and these are his subjects under his protection. In the North adults are expected to go to their liege lord if they don’t have the money to feed and clothe their children. This will come to happen in Riverlands as well but these children will need the money and food now. Brienne seems to know the people running the place so he tasks her with asking about Arya and not fifteen minutes later the smith is sent in to see Bran. The boy, young man really, is of a similar age as Robb but taller and more muscular. He has thick, black hair and blue eyes, a combination Bran has only seen on King Robert and Stannis Baratheon and heard it was shared also by their brother Renly. The man’s face also closely resembles King Robert’s, had King Robert lost a hundred pounds, been twenty years younger and shaved his beard. King Robert also had a taste for whores and serving wenches from what Bran remembered. Certainly he was also more likely to leave behind a bastard.

“What’s your name?” Bran begins the questioning easily.

“Gendry, milord, your Grace. Gendry Waters, your Grace,” the man, Gendry, flounders.

“Have you seen Arya?” Rickon asks impatiently, startling Gendry. He obviously hadn’t noticed Rickon.

“Yes- no- yes, but not in a while, your highness,” Gendry answers nervously.

“But you’ve seen her alive since the end of 298?”

“Yes, your Grace, we travelled for a while together,” answers Gendry. He tells them about how the Hands of the King had asked about his parentage and how Tobho Mott had made arrangements for him to leave the city after the King died, how “Arry” had shown up on the day they left for the wall, how he had figured out she was actually a girl, how she had confined in him her true name, about the golden cloaks and Harrenhall and their escape and time with the Brotherhood without Banners and how he had lost her only seven moons before.

By the end if the tale both Bran and Rickon are smiling. “That certainly sounds like Arya,” Bran chuckles and lifts a large money pouch on the table. “A hundred golden dragons of these are for you, the rest are to be used to feed and properly clothe the children for the next year. Hopefully by then things have calmed down and Darry has a new lord who will provide more should you need. But if things aren’t calm send word either to Riverrun, the Twins or Winterfell and more money or supplies will be sent. I will not have children starving in my kingdom if I can help it.”

Gendry stares at the pouch that is bigger than his head. “Your Grace, if all that money were to be used on clothes and food, we would all be dressed like lords and eat like kings!”

Bran chuckles. “Then the money will last in clever hands for five years, maybe longer if you invest it right. A glass garden even this far south would help you even during a summer but also be invaluable during winter, don’t you agree?”

“Yes your Grace,” Gendry says dazedly, standing up and turning to leave, leaving the money on the table.

“Gendry, you forgot the money,” Bran laughs and watches as Gendry whirls around with a blush and takes the heavy pouch, bowing as he leaves the room. “He seems like a trustworthy fellow,” Bran tells Rickon. “Even Summer and Shaggy seemed to like him.” Which wasn’t exactly true. Summer and Shaggy had barely reacted to Gendry’s entry and exit but they hadn’t growled at him like they were wont to do with strangers. “And there is one that possibly saw Arya after she left Gendry. But according to rumor the Hound sacked Saltpans barely sixty days after Robb died.”

“It doesn’t sound like the Hound’s work,” comments Jamie. “While Sandor was brutal in the battlefield, it was Gregor that was the Clegane monster. And I’ve never met a man that wants to be less like his brother.”

Bran frowns. “Well, we’ve came further along in our search for Arya than I thought but Sansa first.”

They continue their journey to the Vale the very next day, leaving behind a more hopeful inn full of children. The five days it takes to get to the Gate of the Moon through the virtually snowed in mountain pass are very uneventful though Bran had heard that the mountain clans of the Vale sometimes caused trouble for travelers and he is thankful that the mountain clans of the North don’t act like the mountain clans of the Vale.

They are welcomed warmly if warily at the seat of House Royce of the Gate of the Moon. Everyone from the Eyrie is there on top of their own household and directed to the great hall where Petyr Baelish, the Iron Throne’s declared lord of Harrenhall and lord Paramount of the Trident. But Bran knows no Riverlord has ever bent the knee to him and would never bend the knee to him, he was born just the lord of a minor house before rising in court. Bran knows the kind of man: ambitious, power hungry, wanting to prove his worth, yearning to rise above his low birthright. They are the kind of men who will go mad after they reach power, small men driven mad by power they aren’t brought up to wield.

“Your Grace,” Baelish smiles widely, bowing when Bran enters the room on Hodor’s back. “What a lovely surprise to have you visit here.”

Bran smiles back just as falsely as he is set in a chair by the hearth. “It is my pleasure. I came to meet my cousin, Lord Robert and to make sure he is in good health, _Family, Duty, Honor_ and all that. I can’t help feeling responsible for him seeing as I am the third oldest and closest male blood relative has and I wouldn’t want to imagine my brother all alone surrounded by grabbing vassals and lords from other regions. I hope our uncles would take more interest in him.”

“Oh, yes, it has been terribly upsetting for young Robert after his Lady Mother died,” said Baelish with what seemed like remorse.

“You will address him as Lord Robert in my presence, thank you,” Bran says mellowly. “But are you not of the Riverlands yourself, my Lord? The Iron Throne did give you Harrenhall, did it not?”

Baelish’s smile became more fixed. “Indeed it did but I couldn’t bear to leave my dear stepson alone in these trying times. He has become rather attached to my daughter Alayne.”

“Yes, the famed beauty,” Bran smiles sincerely, knowing he is talking of his sister. “We had barely crossed from Riverlands to the Vale before we heard the first song of her beauty. They say her hair changes color from week to week, sometimes appearing almost black and other times being almost red. ‘Tis a pity I haven’t seen my sister nigh in two years. I wonder if I’d recognize her at all. The singers from South sing of her beauty at King’s Landing and lament her disappearance. But from what I’ve heard, it was better for her, being accused of murdering Joffrey the Illborn as she was.”

Let Littlefinger think Bran wouldn’t recognize Sansa after two years. But a wolf always recognizes pack, even after years of separation. And wolves eat birds for breakfast, when they happen to catch them, and Petyr Baelish was trapped by Winter. He should have paid more attention to what Bran’s father had said while at King’s Landing, _Winter Is Coming_ and it has indeed with force fiercer than seen in thousands of years.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to meet my cousin before dinner.”


	12. The Gates of the Moon

Lord Robert is in worse condition than Bran has feared. He is small and pale with large, watery eyes and long, brown hair and he is incredibly spoiled. If Rickon acted like Robert, Bran would have Osha spank him so hard he wouldn’t sit for days. But then, there had never been doubt of Rickon’s survival. When Bran was young and Rickon was just born, he remembers hearing Maester Luwin telling their mother that Rickon was the largest of her children when born, strong and healthy as a horse. But Robert had been small and sickly from start, prone to shaking fits.

The dinner hall is loud when Bran enters and pretends not to notice Sansa with her dyed hair stiffening in her seat among the guests of lower birth, bastards of noble birth most of them. One of them, a tall woman with black hair and blue eyes, very similar to Gendry in all ways possible for a man and a woman to resemble each other, is sitting with her, laughing about something. Bran is seated at the high table, on Lord Robert’s right and Petyr Baelish on Robert’s left and they are in the middle of eating when Bran pretends to notice Sansa.

“Lord Baelish,” he says loudly, gathering everyone’s attention, “I don’t know what you mean by this slight on the honor of House Stark but I would rather see it corrected immediately.”

“What do you mean Your Grace?” asks Bronze Yohn gravely.

“The slight against Princess Sansa of House Stark, seated among bastards, though royal one of them may be,” Bran says clearly, turning everyone’s attention to where the bastards are sitting. Bran sees Sansa pale and the female Gendry looking around, as if expecting someone to jump up and take of a wig, declaring themselves to be the missing Princess.

Rickon’s arrival with the direwolves is timed, Osha being in on the plan and most of the people in the hall flinch at the sight of the giant wolves but Bran is observing Sansa and she doesn’t flinch or show any other sign of nervousness at their presence. Summer sniffs at the air and walks over to Sansa who is just looking back at him. Then Summer licks her face, declaring her as the missing Princess. Sansa laughs, trying to push the wolf away but soon Shaggy joins his brother in bathing her. Rickon and Bran call their wolves off eventually and Sansa stands up, wet and ruffled. Slowly she walks to the high table and walks around it, her eyes on Perty’s, challenge clear in them, as she stops beside Bran’s and throws her arms around him.

Rickon joins the hug with a delighted cry, startling everyone from the Vale out of their stupor, starting to demand answers. Bran ignores them, hugging Sansa as close to himself as he can when he feels hot tears soaking his shoulder. “I thought you’d forgotten about me,” she whimpers lowly and Bran can barely hear her.

“Never,” Bran whispers. “I just didn’t know where you were. As soon as I did, I came for you. We’ll get Arya back too and we’ll rebuild Winterfell and you don’t have to marry anyone you don’t want to.”

This only makes Sansa cry harder, laughing between her sobs, as she eventually ends up in Bran’s lap, not that he can feel it, and Rickon in her lap. Bran knows this should be very uncomfortable but he can’t feel anything with his legs which makes this a perfect moment.

“We heard you were dead and then you weren’t dead and then Robb and mother died and there was no news from North at all and then you’ve treated with the Ironborn and take Riverrun and you’ve treated with wildlings and take the Twins and I thought you’d forgotten me and Arya and I was doomed to marry Harry the Heir,” she blurts out. “And I can’t even look into mirror without seeing a stranger.”

“Then let’s wash your hair today, take out all that dye and you can be as Tully as our mother,” Bran tells her, running his fingers through her brown locks.

Wordlessly Sansa nods to his neck.

“Rickon, go with Osha and get ready for bed. Sansa and I will be by later to tell you a story and if you ask nicely she might even sing you a song,” Bran says to their little brother who yawns and nods, letting Osha lead him away, Shaggy following them. “Sansa, this is Brienne,” Bran introduces Brienne to her. “She was ordered by our mother to find you and return you to her and she has sworn to be your shield. She will take care of you and help you wash your hair,” he tells her with a smile, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “I’ll come by later so that we can go tell Rickon good night.”

Reluctantly Sansa unwraps her arms from around his neck and stands up, ignoring the Vale Lords looking at her in a new light, and goes with Brienne. Summer sits behind Bran’s chair faithfully.

“Cousin Robert, it is time for you to get ready for bed too,” Bran says, looking at his sickly cousin who was swaying in his chair.

“Is Alayne really cousin Sansa?” he asks with a small frown.

“Yes, she is,” Bran confirms for him.

“She looks more like a Sansa than an Alayne anyway,” he yawns. “Will she still sing to me?”

“I am sure she will,” Bran nods and looks around the hall. “Who will take Lord Robert to get ready for bed?”

A servant woman stepped forward and Robert scrunched his nose in distaste but got up from his chair. “Good night King cousin,” he says, halfheartedly bowing at Bran.

“Good night Lord Robert,” Bran nods calmly and turns to look at Petyr Baelish.

“Tell me, Petyr Baelish, how come my sister to pretend to be your bastard daughter,” he says chillingly. “Was it because of her looks? I can see how much reminds our mother and if I’ve heard right, you challenged my uncle Brandon’s right to marry her. Or was it that for a moment she was the only known heir of our brother? Through her you’d effectively control the North had my brother and I not survived,” _and had Jeyne not been pregnant_. “According to the Iron Throne you’re already in control of the Vale and the Riverlands and had the North been added to it, you’d have controlled over half of the Seven Kingdoms.” He smiled ferally.  “Too bad you didn’t listen to father when he was at King’s Landing, or didn’t you hear when he said that Winter was coming? Or were you so secure in your knowledge that the Vale could feed you for decades and that you had enough valyrian steel and dragon glass that you could fight off the Others once they get through the Wall?”

“The Others? From the tales?” asks one of the younger Vale Lords. “Decades?”

“Don’t you know?” Bran grins. “It’s the next Long Night. The dead will rise and won’t stop rising again and again unless burned. The Wall is crumbling and Night’s Watch in less than two thousand men. They are fortified by twelve thousand wildlings and Lord Stannis Baratheon’s host but the Baratheon host isn’t used to the North, even during summer, and this winter is going to be colder and longer than any since the Long Night. But hey, at least they have the wildlings who know how to fight the Others. So I hope you’ve stocked well for the Winter because the end isn’t even in the sight. But please, lord Baelish, I’ve yet to hear the reason you didn’t bring my sister to me as soon as you heard I was alive.”

“I simply thought she was safer here,” Baelish smiles smarmily. “You were fighting a war after all, and Queen Cersei wants your sister’s head on a spike.”

“Queen Cersei is quite busy dealing with the Ironborn raiding the coasts of the Reach and Westerlands. Believe me, Asha Greyjoy isn’t leaving much behind either in gold or food, the loyal kraken that she is,” answers Bran. “And have you heard? Daenerys Targaryen is gathering quite an army in Essos. We were so lucky that Jorah Mormont had already sworn for her when he was pardoned and agreed to stay as our envoy to her. With the way Jorah speaks she will be happy to be rid of the uncontrollable North with the troublesome wildlings and dangerous border in the north. That’s also quite a headache for Queen Cersei never mind the rumored Aegon Targaryen in the Storm lands. She doesn’t have the time to worry about Sansa, especially with her trial coming up. Your next excuse, please?”

“What excuse? It is the truth,” insisted Baelish.

“Then what is this plan of yours that I’m hearing of betrothing her to Harry the Heir? You aren’t in any position to marry her off as she already is married by your southron ways and in the North, the closest male relative or the King are the only ones allowed to arrange betrothals.”

“The Lannister wedding was never consummated.”

“Of course it wasn’t, lions and wolves don’t mate together,” Bran snorts. “Don’t you know? Lions rut the most powerful and useful to themselves but wolves mate for life.”

“Is that why you have a bastard brother?”

“I’m not sure if Jon even is our brother. His conceiving and birth all fall into the time during Robert’s rebellion when it was possible for two Starks to have bastards, my father and his sister lady Lyanna,” Bran points out. “Father could have easily claimed Jon as his own, rather smearing his own name than that of his sister’s. And Jon and Arya looked very much alike and Arya is said to have resembled our aunt Lyanna. But back to my sister. Why did you hide her here as your bastard?”

“Where else could she have gone? Lady Lysa was her aunt.”

“Yes, she was, but she was also the most useless of her siblings,” Bran says. “Sansa would have been safer at Riverrun even with it being sieged by Lannisters. The Blackfish wouldn’t have let anything to happen to her. Why did you bring her here and not tell anyone?”

“Those useless trouts let my Cat be killed.”

“My mother wasn’t yours in any way and believe me, she was the last one alive at the Twins during the Red Wedding, I’ve heard the confessions from the Freys themselves, even the one that cut her throat after she went mad, seeing my brother’s dead body. Do you know who she called for? It was my father. In no way did she remember you in her last moments. Why did you bring my sister here?”

“No, she was mine and Sansa is as good as mine, my daughter, she was supposed to be my daughter!” Baelish cracks and shouts.

Satisfied, Bran leans back and smiles. “But she isn’t. She’s Eddard Stark’s daughter, the gentle wolf but still a wolf. And do you know what wolves do with the birds they catch? Yes, it is hard for a ground bound creature to catch a bird, but occasionally a bird foolishly lands somewhere and out of nowhere a wolf pounces from behind the bird. First the wolf crushes the bird’s wings, making it flightless. The bird can try to hop away but everyone knows birds are slow without their wings and wolves are known to chaise their prey for miles. So, after the bird is made flightless wolves continue with crushing pressure somewhere, maybe the throat or chest, making it hard for the bird to sing, or squawk as it may be in some cases. Now the bird is helpless, unable to fly and unable to call for help. But wolves, you understand, don’t like easy prey and often leave the damaged birds for others. Maybe an eagle will be hunting nearby, or a wolf pup, or a hound, or a lion, or maybe even a dragon. But sometimes the bird will die of natural causes such as starvation or hypothermia. I hope we understand each other as vassal and the King of the Trident.” Bran calls Hodor over and is lifted to the basket on his back before telling Baelish one last thing. “And we aren’t just wolves or direwolves. We can be anything we want to.” Crown and Crowd land on his shoulders and caw in agreement, staring at Petyr Baelish as Hodor walks away, followed by most of the northern force, leaving him to answer to the Vale lords.

When the doors close behind them a relieved sigh leaves from Bran and he slumps in his basket. He fears he may have given away too much but in the end doesn’t care. He has Sansa back and has warned Baelish to back off. How long that will last is a mystery to everyone but hopefully long enough for Bran to get his siblings on horses and on the way to Riverlands.

He first stops by Sansa’s room to collect her, Richard having asked the directions from a servant, and they go to put Robert to sleep, Sansa singing the lullaby their mother had sung for them, her wet and red hair in a loose braid. Then they go to Rickon and Bran’s room where Rickon is in his smallclothes, sitting in front of the hearth and shivering. Richard helps Bran change for bed and settles his King in the middle of the bed, leaving with a small bow. Rickon jumps on the bed and snuggles close to Bran who automatically puts his arm around him. Silently he holds out his other hand to Sansa who takes the invitation and curls up on Bran’s other side. In front of the hearth Summer and Shaggy are in a smiliar pile.

Their family isn’t complete, can never be complete, but for now they are content to be together.


	13. And where it ends

They arrive at Winterfell just four days before Bran’s name day. The castle is still in need of repairs and there are still scorch marks where the Boltons had burned it but it was much improved from the last time Bran last saw it. Winter town is bustling with smallfolk, most of who work at restoring Winterfell and earning food for their families. Rickon is curious about everything that is being done from woodwork to stonemasonry and how the two work together. The First Keep is already whole as is the Bell tower and the Maester’s turret, Library tower and outer walls are being worked on. Even the Broken Tower is being rebuilt though not to the height it had once been. The lichyard is in shambles but Lady’s grave still stands, her granite statue sitting demurely in one corner. The glass gardens have been rebuilt with glass brought from the Free Cities, their price cheaper than if they’d been bought somewhere in Westeros and new saplings are already sprouting there. A new hive of bees has been imported also, and they are buzzing in the warmth. The glass panes had been brought by ship to White Harbor and by boat up the smaller branch of White Knife, the White Dagger.

The Bolton captives still jump at shadows and too loud voices, Bran sees some of them looking wildly around when something startles the dogs in the kennels as their party rides thought the South gate to the yard. The wooden bridge between Armory and the Great Keep has been replaced by a stony one that will be warm when they get the water circulation system to proper working order. Walda Frey, his betrothed looks around with fearful curiosity.

Bran searches for familiar faces among the servants and guards, finding some that he vaguely recognizes when one of the freed Bolton prisoners catches his attention. He isn’t sure what it is that draws his attention. It might be that he seems more familiar with Winterfell than others or that he looks older than he should be or that he walks with a limp but his face is familiar and Bran can’t place it. Summer growls at the man, as does Shaggy but after the man lowers his eyes submissively they ignore him completely.

Bran stops one of the servants and asks who the man is. “Bolton called him Reek but everyone knows the real Reek died almost a year ago,” the man says. “But the Bastard broke him and no one’s been told his real name. He calls himself Reek, saying it rhymes with weak and freak. The Bastard took his teeth and flayed his fingers, making him beg to flay his fingers, and flayed his toes a few times, one time too many and he lost some of them, poor man. It is also whispered that the Bastard took his manhood, cock and balls both, but no one knows that for sure. He’s the one man no one wants to be, even the other Bolton prisoners look at him with pity. Though everyone thinks he was a favored servant of the Starks before which is why the Bastard was especially mean to him.”

Bran thanks the man for his information and throws him a copper, leaving the man to stare after him and only later to find out he’d been talking to the King.

It is only the following night, when he lays awake in his bed, Rickon already having snuck in to sleep with him, that he realizes who the man reminds him of: Theon Greyjoy. They have the same dark eyes and face shape even if his black hair is already peppered with grey, his nose crooked and his jaw and lips swollen and from what Bran has seen completely different in personality.

For the next few days Bran observes Theon and notices how he seems to draw comfort of Winterfell itself and Bran often catches Theon looking at Rickon, Sansa and himself with a small, barely there smile. Bran knows what he should do, he had promised to give Theon back to Asha once he was found, but the broken man hobbling around Winterfell didn’t seem in a hurry to leave. In fact, Bran is fairly sure Theon might not even be able to leave, his hands and feet aching from cold every evening. The new Maester, Donnel, had advised Theon to stay inside where it was warm and in the evenings take a warm bath but the young man continued to work outside.

It was on his name day that Bran calls Theon to his solar, making sure to tell the servant to fetch “Reek” and to reassure the man that he had done nothing wrong if he showed fear. Still, it was a man shivering with fear that entered the half furnished room, wringing his hands and Bran compares him to the handsome man that had taken him prisoner in his own home.

“Come forth,” he tells Theon who shuffles forward reluctantly and stops well out of Bran’s hitting range. “Come on, closer, I’m not going to hit you, Theon.”

The last word instantly sends Theon groveling on the ground, whining. “No Theon, only Reek, only Reek.”

“Theon, come here,” Bran commands, disturbed by the reaction the mere name had on Theon. The Bastard must have done some unimaginable things to him to cause this in the proud youth Bran had known.

Theon crawls closer. “Not Theon, just Reek,” he keeps muttering even when he is crouching by Bran’s chair, head barely on the same level as Bran’s knees.

“Theon, there is only Theon and no Reek,” Bran tells him, taking on a voice gentler than with anyone but his siblings, his hand coming to rest on top of Theon’s head.

Theon flinches at the touch but when it doesn’t hurt looks up at Bran.

Bran runs his fingers through Theon’s thinned out hair gently, knowing it might be the first gentle human touch Theon has had in nearly a year. Certainly no one in Winterfell had touched him gently after he’d taken the castle but even before that he’d been on battlefield and if what Asha had told him was true, no one on Pyke had been exactly thrilled to have him back. “There is no need for Reek anymore Theon, Bolton and his Bastard are both dead. You can go back to Pyke to your sister, she has agreed to have you.”

Theon shakes his head vehemently. “No, no, no, stay here, warm, happy, home. Robb. Please?”

Bran feels his heart break for this broken man kneeling beside him. As long as he can remember Robb was the only one who trusted Theon, everyone else always japing about how trustworthy the Greyjoys truly are. Bran himself had never truly liked Theon but that was mostly because of how mean he could be but until Theon had taken over Winterfell he had always thought Theon loyal to Robb, despite being a Greyjoy. For Theon, Robb was probably the only person ever to accept him just as he was. Asha had told Bran that Lord Balon wouldn’t have bothered to spit on Theon had he been on fire as long as he dressed like a northerner. The yearning for an approving word from your father is a powerful thing, Bran knows better than many. Nothing ever feels quite like it. So in a way he understands why Theon did what he did to please his father but Eddard had been as good as his father since Theon was ten to the time he left to King’s Landing. Yes, he hadn’t been treated like Robb but Robb was Eddard’s heir. In the end he’d been treated better than Jon because their mother didn’t carry an irrational hatred for Theon.

“Of course you may stay here, at least until you are better and the weather isn’t as bad,” Bran agrees. “But Asha will want to see you. Apparently your mother has asked about you, has asked after you since you came North for the first time. Wouldn’t you like to see her before she dies?”

“I’m not whole, not the son that left,” he says, his dark eyes wide.

“No, but you are the only son she has left and a mother loves you until her death. Most likely you are in her prayers, have been since before you were born. You are Theon Greyjoy, ward of Winterfell, brother of the Lord of the Iron Isles, not the abomination Reek the Bastard made you.” He still strokes Theon’s hair. “Will you go see your mother? You can always come back even if you’ll have to be the one to explain the reason to your sister.”

“But… you’re the one that offered me back to her.”

“Because I would have done anything for my siblings and while I can’t see Cersei doing anything for Tyrion, no other family is like the Lannisters and most would do anything for their family, much like you did. And I could see her love for you, even if it was the love for the little boy you once were, and I knew she would do anything in her power to keep you alive, even swear a blood oath of fealty to me.”

“You’ve grown up so fast.”

“I had to. Who else was left? Arya could have taken care of us much better than I can but she is lost in the south. Sansa has always been gentle and while there is steel inside her, she isn’t the sword Arya could so easily become. And Rickon? He was much too young. So I did what my father did before me: we became what our older brothers were supposed to be. Except that what we were supposed to become were different things. Father became a Lord, the Lord in the North, he married his brother’s betrothed and fought in a war to bring his sister back. I became a King, the Cripple King in the North. I had the best advisers that could be found on such a short notice and I had time think because no matter what, I wouldn’t be able to fight in a battle. But I also had a younger brother to protect and two sisters to find and bring back. The treaty with the wildlings? That was the handy work of the Maester of Bear Island. I knew I had to get the Ironborn to stop raiding the North but it was a lucky chance Asha was at Deepwood Motte when we took it back. So I offered her an altered version of the same treaty I offered Mance Rayder and off we went because the Iron fleet was raiding the Westerlands and Reach which left Pyke vulnerable according to Alysane Mormont. Then it became apparent that my uncle needed help at Riverrun and I had to help. The three way battle was planned by Asha, Alysane and Osha. The Twins were purely Mance Rayder’s idea. In fact, the only victories I count as my own are the ones with Stannis Baratheon and Petyr Baelish and those I won because I was better informed than they thought I would be. The victories in the Riverlands may be in my name but they aren’t my victories, they are the joint effort of the Blackfish, the Greatjon and Asha. Yes, I am smart, but I’m not the fighter Robb was. I could have become that yes, but I never got the chance. I am merely a figurehead that will tell them who is the enemy and finance their war but that is enough for me. Can you understand?”

Theon nods slowly, having closed his eyes while Bran spoke.

“Will you go see your mother?”

“If it pleases your Grace, I would like to,” he says quietly. “But only if I can come back.”

“Of course you can. Winterfell has been your home for a longer time than I’ve been alive.”

They sit like that, Theon kneeling by Bran’s chair, Bran stroking his hair, for a while longer before Bran sends Theon away, citing work he has to do. But he hasn’t had long to spend checking the ledgers when Maester Donnel enters with a message from Riverrun.

Jeyne and her baby have died. Jeyne of birthing fever and the baby was stillborn. Bran sees that small light of freedom that Robb’s heir provided die with a whimper.

He sends Maester Donnel away and rests his head on the table in front of him.

Then he straightens himself and starts writing a letter to Lord Manderly, instructing him to send someone to buy Unsullied from Essos, one hundred for the protection of the Northern Royal family and ten thousand for the Wall. Winter and White Walkers are here and he isn’t going to let his people die because of them. Also, had Arya been smart, she would have fled to the Free Cities, which meant spreading word there too that Princess Arya Stark was welcome home and hope that she’d hear it somehow.

He is the Winter King, now and until the day he dies, no Regent in his title anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are some ages by the end of the story and dates to help better understand the story:  
> Bran: 12 09/09  
> Rickon: 8 01/06  
> Robb: 19 (dead)  
> Sansa: 15 15/12  
> Arya: 14 01/04  
> Jon: 20 24/08  
> 23/12/299 Red Wedding  
> 31/12/299 Bran crowned  
> 01/01/300 Purple Wedding, Joff dies, Sansa escapes KL  
> 29/02/300 Bran treats with Mance Rayder, Stannis arrives at Wall  
> 17/03/300 Asha swears fealty to Bran  
> 15/04/300 Bran wins at Riverrun, meets uncles and Jeyne  
> 26/05/300 The Twins  
> 20/06/300 Bran arrives at the Gates of the Moon, meets Baelish, Robert and Sansa  
> 05/09/300 Bran arrives at Winterfell


	14. Later in Braavos and the Epilogue

Beth, the beautiful but blind beggar, loves stories from Westeros so no one bats an eye when she slips to the docks. There are new ships from White Harbor, or rather, returning to White Harbor after a six month voyage to the Slaver’s Bay. She wonders if things really have changed that much that people are using slaves in the North now, and immediately cuts off that line of thought. Beth has never been to the North, she reminds herself, but she dreams of going everywhere, it’s why she listens to the stories.

“Beth! Come here girl,” calls one of the normal dock workers, Darren, and Beth feels her way over to him. “These gentlemen need someone to spread information for them. I know you work fast and ask the lowest prize on top of the gossip you’re so fond of.”

Beth smiles at where she thinks Darren is. “I like the stories from Westeros. When I have enough money saved, I’m going to buy passage there and visit the Wall and King’s Landing and Dorne, you know this. They will smell so different from Braavos!”

Darren laughs good naturedly. “I’ll leave you to your business then.” Beth hears him walk away and patiently waits for the Westerosi to start talking.

“We need to get the word out there,” one of them says in a thick Northern accent. “How fast do you work?”

“Depends. Do you want it to become a rumor that picks up over time or do you want everyone to know it right away? It’ll be cheaper if you want everyone to know right away because that means less work for me.”

“Something between those,” says another. “We want everyone to know but it can take time.”

“Three coppers for speed service, five for a mediocre and ten for a rumor. And you have to tell me what is happening over there.”

“Fine,” a third man says and Beth holds her hand out, feeling five small coins pressed in it. “We need you to spread the word that King Brandon Stark is looking for his sister Princess Arya.”

Beth felt her heart freeze. Hadn’t Bran and Rickon been killed by Theon Greyjoy? “Okay. Now tell me the story of King Brandon and his sister.”

She sits there in the burning sun, so different from North even if they were on the same latitude as the Neck, listening how King Brandon had been crowned a week after King Robb died. About how King Brandon rode to the Wall on Night’s Watch’s call to treat with the Wildling King, giving them permission to inhabit a part of North in exchange for men fighting for his cause. How King Brandon had gotten Asha Greyjoy to swear allegiance to him and then had taken over the Iron Isles. Of how he saved his uncles from the Kingslayer whom he stripped of his knighthood. Of how he took the Twins and gave the Frey’s their due. Of how he found his sister Princess Sansa in Vale pretending to be a bastard girl and all this with his little brother riding in front of him, sharing the saddle. How his forces were holding Riverlands easily against the army of Iron Throne and how Asha Greyjoy was looting the Lannisters of their gold and the Tyrells of their food. Beth asks of the Unsullied too and inwardly smiles at the answer. How King Brandon was now focusing on looking for his last missing sister.

“When are you sailing?” she asks after the gentlemen have ended their stories.

“Two days from now,” man number one answers. “Why?”

Beth gives a mysterious smile. “You might have a new passenger by then,” she tells them and feels her way to the streets.

Two days later when the ships bound to White Harbor leave, they have a young girl abroad with short dark brown hair and stormy grey eyes who carries a thin blade with the mark of Winterfell’s old smith.

 

Epilogue:

“Bran! Bran! That’s my second skin!” Rickon shouts eagerly, pointing at the giant lizard. “Can you now teach me to warg with animals that aren’t a part of me?”

Bran wants to weep because taking one of Queen Daenery’s Targaryen’s dragons as a skin for the Northern Prince will be a diplomatic nightmare and he’d just ended negotiations with her and the Five Kingdoms!

Oh well, when it isn’t Rickon causing problems it is Arya opening her mouth when she should have kept it shut or Sansa’s past catching up with her in the form of men, be it her Lord husband (not that the marriage was acknowledged in the North as it was made on sword point), Harry the Heir or the Hound.

It’s just a day in the life of the King of Winter, Bran Stark, the long suffering brother of Princesses Sansa (“Your gown is lovely, your Grace, but it is very impractical in the North. Please come in, you must be freezing.”) and Arya (“I am no friking Princess! I am no Lady! And if you think of taking Jon back to King’s Landing to be your nephew-husband, I’ll stick you with the pointy end!”), Prince Rickon (“Bran! Look what I found in the Goodswood! They say they’ve come to you as you refused to go to them. This one’s named Leaf!”) and Lord Commander Jon Snow-Stark-Targaryen (“For the last time I’m not coming to King’s Land- Oh, Bran it’s just you, I thought it was Queen Daenerys again. She won’t leave me alone and believe I am happy on the Wall.”).


End file.
